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ONLY A GIRL 


OR 

A PHTSICIAI5‘ FOE THE SOUL. 


A. le-oivcAisrcE 


FROM THE O-ERM-A^N 
OF . 

■ ■<■ cVy 

WILHELMINE^YON HILLERN. 


BY 




MRS. ArLv WISTER. 



> ) > 

> ) ) 

p hiladelphia: 
LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
1872 . 


J. B. 






i 




Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1870, by 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT A CO., 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Coart of the United States for the 
Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



\ 



< 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTETt PAQS 

I. “ Only a Girl” .6 

II. The Story op the Ugly Duckling ... 21 

III. Atonement 60 

IV. The Sad Survivors 68 

Y. Undeceived 79 

VI. Soul-Murder ....... 99 

VII. Departure 118 


II- 


I. “ Only a Woman” 137 

II. The Swan 159 

III. The Village School 182 

IV. The Guardian 200 

V. Fruitless Pretensions 209 

VI. Emancipation op the Flesh .... 222 

VII. Emancipation op the Spirit .... 234 

VIII. “When Women hold the Keins” . . . 265 

IX. Vox PopuLi, Vox Dei 275 

X. Nowhere at Home ...... 287 

XI. Inharmonious Contrasts 322 


(iii) 


ir 


CONTENTS. 


iPj^-s,rn III. 

OHAPTZB PAQl 

I. The Strength of Weakness .... 840 

II. The Weakness of Strength .... 366 

III. Silver-armed Kathchen 876 

IV. Battle 388 

Y. Science and Faith . . . . . . 412 

VI. Sentenced 436 

VII. The Orphan 459 

VIII. Blossoms on the Border of the Grave . 471 

IX. It is Morning again 482 

X. Keturn 600 

XI. “Give us this Day Our Daily Bread’* , , 614 

XII. The Third Power 629 


ONLY A GIRL; 

OR 

A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL 


CHAPTER I. 

“ ONLY A GIRL.” 

In a level, well- wooded country in Northern Germany, 
not far from an insignificant village, stood a distillery, 
such as is fretjuently to be found upon the estates of 
the North German nobility, and in connection with it 
an extensive manufactory, — the estate comprising, be- 
sides, a kitchen-garden overgrown with weeds, a few fruit- 
trees overshadowing the decaying remains of rustic seats 
long fallen to ruin, and a dwelling-house, well built, 
indeed, but as neglected and dirty as its guardian the 
lean, hungry mastiff, whose empty plate and dusty jug 
testified to the length of time since the poor creature had 
had any refreshment in the oppressive heat of this July 
day. No one who looked upon this picture could doubt 
that the interior of the house must correspond with its 
cheerless outside, and that the gentle, beneficent hand was 
wanting there that keeps a house neat and orderly, cares for 
the garden, and attends to the wants of even a dumb brute. 
Where such a hand is wanting, there is neither order 
nor culture, no love of the beautiful, nor sometimes 
even of the good, — too often, indeed, no joy, no happi- 
ness. There was no one in the court-yard or garden; 
nothing was stirring but a couole of cheeping chickens 

1 * ( 5 ) 


6 


ONLY A GIRL; 


that were peeping around the corner of the dog’s kennel, 
in hopes of stray crumbs from his last meal. They came 
on cautiously, their little heads turoing curiously from 
side to side, in fear lest the dog should make his appear- 
ance ; but he kept in his kennel, his head resting upon 
his paws, and his bloodshot eyes blinking over the dis- 
tant landscape. The hungry fowls, grown bolder, pecked 
and scratched around his plate, but vainly: there was 
nothing to be found but dry sand. 

Beside the well stood a churn, and a bench upon 
which lay a roll of fresh butter, which, neglected and 
forgotten, was melting beneath the sun’s hot rays, and 
dripping down upon the weeds around. Perhaps the 
starving dog was suddenly struck by the thought how 
grateful this waste would be to him were it only within 
his domain ; for he started up and ran out as far as he 
could from his kennel, dragging his rattling chain behind 
him, as if to prove its length, then stood still, and finally 
bethought himself and crept back with drooping head be- 
neath his roof. Outside of a window, upon the ground 
floor, stood a couple of dried cactus-plants, and several 
bottles of distilled herbs; the cork of one of them was 
gone, and its contents filled with flies and beetles. Every- 
thing, far and near, betrayed neglect and dirt ; but the 
excuse of poverty was evidently wanting. The exten- 
sive stables and accommodations for cattle, the huge 
out- houses and far-stretching fields of grain testified to 
the wealth of the proprietor of the estate. A comfort- 
able rolling-chair standing in the court-yard, its leath- 
ern cushions rotting in the sun, seemed to indicate the 
presence of an invalid or a cripple. Only the lowest 
and uppermost stories of the house appeared to be in- 
habited ; the windows of the middle floor were all closed, 
and so thickly festooned with cobwebs that they could 
not have been opened for a long time. It seemed as if the 
swallows were the only creatures who could find comfort 
in such an inhospitable mansion ; their nests were every- 
where to be seen. The chickens looked enviously up at 
them, and hopped upon the low window-ledges of the 
lower story, as if to remind the inmates of their existence 
and necessities. Suddenly they fluttered down to the 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


1 


ground again, for from one of the open windows there 
came a child’s scream, so piteous and shrill that the large 
dog pricked his ears and once more restlessly measured 
the length of his chain. 

In a low room, the atmosphere of which was almost 
stifling from the heat of an ironing-stove and the steam 
from dampened linen, that two robust maid-servants 
were engaged in ironing, a little girl, about twelve years 
of age, was standing before an old wardrobe. She was 
half undressed, and the garments falling off her shoulders 
disclosed a little body so wasted and delicate that at 
sight of it a mother’s eyes would have filled with tears. 
But there was no mother near, only an old housekeeper, 
whose bony fingers had apparently just been laid violently 
upon the child, who was crying aloud and covering one 
thin shoulder with her hand, while she refused to put 
on a dress that the woman was holding towards her. 

“ What is the matter now ?” an angry voice called 
from the adjoining room. The child started in alarm. 
The old woman went to the door, and replied, “ Ernes- 
tine is so naughty again that there is no doing anything 
with her. She has torn her best dress, because she says 
she has outgrown it, and it hurts her ; but it isn’t true : 
it fits her very well.” 

“ How can the miserable creature have outgrown any 
dress?” rejoined the rough voice from within. “Put it 
on this moment, and go 1” 

The child leaned against the wardrobe, and looked 
obstinate and defiant. 

“ She won’t do it, sir; she does not want to go to the 
children’s party I” said the unfeeling attendant. 

“ I ordered you to go,” cried the father. “ When a 
lady like the Frau Staatsrathin does you the honour to 
invite you, you are to accept her invitation gratefully. I 
will not have it said that I make a Cinderella of my 
daughter I” 

Little Ernestine made no reply, but looked at the house- 
keeper with such an expression in her large, sunken eyes, 
that the woman was transported with rage ; it seemed 
scarcely possible that so much contempt and hate should 
find place in the bosom of a child. The housekeeper 


8 


ONLY A GIRL; 


clasped her hands. “No, you bad, naughty child! You 
ought to see how she is looking at me now, Herr von 
Hartwich 1” 

With these words she tried again to throw the dress 
over Ernestine’s head ; but the girl tore it away, threw 
it on the ground and trampled upon it, crying in a trans- 
port of rage, interrupted by bursts of tears, “ I will not 
put it on, and I will not go among strangers ! I will not 
be treated so! You are a bad, wicked woman! I will 
not mind you!” 

“ Oh, goodness gracious ! was ever such a naughty 
child seen !” exclaimed the housekeeper, looking with a 
secret sensation of fear at the little fury who stood be- 
fore her with dishevelled hair and heaving chest. 

“ When are you going to stop that noise out there ?” 
roared the father. “ Must I, wretched man that I am, 
hear nothing, all day long, but children’s and servants’ 
squabbles? Ernestine, come in here to me!” 

At this command, the little girl began to tremble vio- 
lently ; she knew what was in store for her, and moved 
slowly towards the door. “Are you coming ?” called the 
invalid. 

Ernestine entered the room, and stood as far as pos- 
sible from the bed where he was lying. “Now, come 
here !” he cried, beckoning her towards him with his right 
hand, — his left was crippled, — and continuing, as Ernes- 
tine hesitated: “You good-for-nothing, obstinate child! 
you have never caused a throb of pleasure to any one since 
you came into the world ; not even to your mother, for 
your birth cost her her life. In you God has heaped 
upon me all the sorrows but none of the joys that a son 
might afford his father; you have the waywardness and 
self-will of a boy, with the frail, puny body of a girl ! 
What is to be done with such a wretched creature, that 
can do nothing but scream and cry ?” 

At these words the child burst into a fresh flood of 
tears, and was hurrying out, when she was recalled by a 
thundering “ Stop ! you have not bad your punishment 
yet!” 

Ernestine knew then what was coming, and begged 
hard. “ Do not strike me, father ! Oh, do not strike me 
again !” But her entreaties were of no avail. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


9 


With lips tightly compressed, and her little hands com 
rulsively clasped together, she approached the bed. The 
sick man raised his broad hard hand, and a heavy blow fell 
upon the transparent cheek of the child, who staggered 
and fell on the floor. “Now will you obey, or have you 
not had enough yet?’^ the father asked. 

“ I will obey,’’ sobbed the little girl, as she rose from 
the floor. 

“ But first ask Frau Gedike’s pardon I” ordered the 
angry man. 

“ No!” cried Ernestine firmly. “ That I will not do I” 

“ How I is your obstinacy not yet conquered ? Dis- 
obey at your peril !” 

“ Though you should kill me, I will not do it,” answered 
the child, with a strange gleam in her eyes, as her father, 
endeavouring to raise himself in his bed, stretched out 
his hand towards her. 

“ Oh, fie I are you crazy ?” suddenly said a melodious 
voice, just behind Ernestine. “Is that the way for a 
man of sense to reason with a naughty child, — playing 
lion-tamer with a sick kitten !” 

Then the speaker turned to the little girl and said 
kindly, “ Go, my child, and be dressed ; you will enjoy 
yourself with all those pretty little girls.” 

Ernestine’s long black eyelashes fell, and she obeyed 
silently. 

The strange intercessor for the tormented child was a 
tall, slender, almost handsome man, with delicate features 
and a certain air of repose which might rather be called 
impassibility, but which was so refined in its expression 
that it could not but produce a favourable impression. His 
tone of voice was soft, melodious, and grave; his pro- 
nunciation faultlessly pure. An atmosphere of culture 
which seemed to surround him gave him an air of supe- 
riority. His dress was simple, but in good taste, his 
step light, his manner and bearing supple and insinuating. 
It would have struck the common observer as conde- 
scending, but the closer student of human nature would 
have found it ironical and treacherous. 

In moments of passion such human reptiles exercise a 
soothing influence upon heated minds, and check their 


10 


ONLY A GIRL; 


violent outbreaks, as ice-bandages will arrest a flow of 
blood. Upon his entrance the invalid became quiet, 
almost submissive ; the room seemed to him suddenly to 
become cooler ; he was, he thought, conscious of a pleasant 
draught of air as the tall figure approached the bed and 
sank into the arm-chair beside his pillow. 

“ It would be no wonder if I did become crazy I” Herr 
von Hartwich excused himself “ The child exasperates 
me. When a man suffers tortures for months at a time, 
and is crippled and confined to bed, how can he help being 
irritable ? He cannot be as patient as a man in full 
health, who can get out of the way of such provoking 
scenes whenever he pleases I” 

“ You could easily do that if you chose, by keeping the 
child in the rooms above, which have been empty for 
years. Then you might be quiet, and people would not 
be able to say that the rich Hartwich’s delicate child had 
to sit in the ironing-room in such hot weather, — it is 
worse than unjust ; I think it unwise I” 

“ What I” Hartwich suddenly interrupted him, “shall 
I leave the child and the servants to their own devices 
above-stairs, whilst I lie here alone and neglected ? Or 
shall I hire an expensive nurse, and make every one think 
I am dying, and let the factory-hands suppose themselves 
without a master 

“That last cannot happen, for they long ago ceased to 
regard yon as their master ; they know that I am the 
ruling spirit of the whole business. As for your talb 
about the expense of a nurse, such folly can only be ex- 
plained on the score of your incredible avarice, which has 
become a mania with you of late. For whom are you 
hoarding your wealth ? Not for your child ; you will 
leave her no more than what the law compels you to leave 
her ; still less for me, for you have always been a genuine 
step-brother, and have bequeathed me your propertv 
only because I would not communicate to you the secrets 
of my discoveries without remuneration; and you would 
rather give away all your wealth at your death than any 
part of it during your lifetime. And I assure you that 
if 1 am to be your heir, which perhaps may never 
be, I would far rather go without a few thousand 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


11 


thalers than witness such outrageous neglect of a child’s 
education I” 

The invalid listened earnestly. “ You are talking very 
frankly to me to-day, and are, it seems to me, reckoning 
very confidently upon my not altering my last will and 
testament,” he said, in an irritated tone of menace. 

Without a change of feature, the other continued: “With 
all your faults and eccentricities, you are too upright 
in character to punish my candour in the way at which 
you hint. You know well that I mean kindly by you, 
and that I am an honest man. I might have required 
large sums of money from you. Upon the strength of 
the increase of income accruing from my exertions, I 
might have insisted upon your constituting me your 
partner, and much else besides; but I have contented 
myself with the modest position of superintendent, and 
with the certainty that by your will (God grant you length 
of days !) a brilliant future may be prepared for my child 
when I am no more. These proofs of disinterestedness, 
I think, give me a right to speak frankly to you !” 

“ What is all this circumlocution to lead to ?” asked 
Hartwich, who had grown strikingly languid, while his 
speech was becoming thick. “ Be quick, for I am sleepy.” 

“ Simply to this, — that you either remove Ernestine to 
the upper story, or, what would be better still, away from 
the house.” 

“ Away from the house I Where to ?” 

“ Why, to some institution where she may be so edu- 
cated that it need be no disgrace hereafter to have to own 
her as a relative. The child will be ruined with no society 
but that of servant-maids, grooms, and village children.” 

“ Bah 1” growled the invalid, “what does it matter?” 

“If you are indifferent as to what becomes of your 
daughter, I am by no means indifferent as to my niece, 
or as to the influence that, if she lives, she may exercise 
upon my own daughter. As Ernestine now is, the thought 
that in a year or two she may be my child’s playmate 
gives me great anxiety. Should she remain here, I must 
send my little girl from home, or she will be ruined also. 
But, setting all this aside, I wish her sent away for your 
sake. You cannot control yourself towards the obstinate, 


12 


ONLY A GIRL; 


neglected child ; and, as long as she is with you, such 
scenes as have just occurred are unavoidable. And I 
have learned to-day that the whole village resounds with 
your ‘ cruel treatment’ of your own child. This throws 
rather a bad light upon your character, just when you 
wish our new neighbours to think well of you.” 

“ That’s all nonsense ; if they think the factory worth 
fifty thousand thalers, they’ll buy it, whether they think 
me a rogue or an honest man,” said Hartwich. 

“ Think the factory worth — yes, that’s just it,” the 
silken-smooth man continued ; “ but that they may think 
it worth so much, much may be necessary, — among other 
things, some degree of confidence in the present proprietor.” 

“And you have the sale very near at heart, because 
you would far rather put the fifteen thousand thalers 
profit, that I have insured to you, into your pocket than 
win your bread by honest labour,” said the invalid with 
sarcasm. “ ’Tis a fine gift for me to throw into your lap I” 

“ A gift ?” his brother asked — “ an indemnification for 
the loss of income that the sale of the factory will occa- 
sion me, and without which indemnification I shall cer- 
tainly prevent any such sale. You are always represent- 
ing our business transactions as generous on your part. 
I require no generosity at your hands. You pay me for 
my services: I serve you because you pay me. Why 
pretend to a feeling that would be unnatural between us? 
— we are step -brothers ; it would be preposterous senti- 
mentality to try to love each other.” 

“ Most certainly you take no pains to attach me to 
you,” the invalid remarked. 

“ Why should I ?” his brother replied with a smile. 
“ There must be some reason for everything in the world 
— there would be none in that. You would not give me 
a farthing for my amiability ; whatever I get from you 
must be earned by services very different from brotherly 
affection.” 

“ You are a downright fiend, that no man, made of 
flesh and blood, could possibly love I You always were 
so from a child : how you tormented my poor mother I 
You know nothing of human feeling. In the warmest 
weather your hands are always damp and cold, and your 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


13 


heart, too, is never warm. I am cross and irritable, but I 
am not as utterly heartless as you are, God forbid I You 
are one of those beings at discord with all natural laws, 
who cast no shadow in the sunshine.” The sick man 
closed his eyes, exhausted, and large drops of moisture 
stood upon his brow. 

His brother took a handkerchief and carefully wiped 
them away. “ Only see how you excite yourself, and 
all for nothing!” he said in the gentlest, kindliest voice. 
“ Because I have no sympathy with fictitious sentiment 
and exaggerated outbursts, you call me unfeeling. Be- 
cause I am quiet by nature, not easily aroused, you pic- 
ture me in your feverish dreams as a vampire. I will 
leave you now, or I shall excite you. Lay to heart what 
I have said about the child ; for if the present course is 
persevered in, it will bring disgrace upon us, and that 
would be to me unendurable !” 

Hartwich made no reply; he had turned bis face to the 
wall, and did not look around until his brother had noise- 
lessly left the room. 

During this conversation little Ernestine had allowed 
her dress to be put on. When this was done, the house- 
keeper left the room, and the child busied herself with 
lacing upon her feet an old pair of boots that were really 
too small for her. 

“ That’s right, Ernestine,” one of the maid-servants 
whispered. “ Frau Gedike is a bad woman ; none of us 
can bear her — it is good for her to be vexed, and we are 
glad of it!” 

“ I do not want to vex her, but I hate her — and my 
father, too — he is cruel to me,” said the child, with the 
bitterness with which a defenceless human being, when 
ill used, seeks to revenge itself. 

“ Indeed he is a dreadful father,” Bieka, the elder of 
the maids, whispered softly to her companion, but Ernes- 
tine heard all that she said perfectly well. “ He always 
wanted a son, and talked forever of what he would do 
for his boy when he had one. And when the child was 
born, and was not a boy after all, he was quite beside 
himself, and cried furiously, ‘ Only a girl ! only a girl !’ 
and rushed out of the house, banging the door after him 


14 


ONLY A GIRL; 


so that the whole house shook. The young mother — she 
was a delicate lady — fell into convulsions with sorrow and 
fright, and took the fever, and died on the third day. 
Then he was sorry enough, and raved and tore his hair 
over the corpse, but he could not bring her to life again. 
He has been well punished since he had his stroke, and 
perhaps it was to punish him that Ernestine has grown 
so ugly ; but he ought at least to show his repentance 
for what he did, by kindness to the sickly little thing, in- 
stead of abusing her. It isn’t the child’s fault that she’s 
not a boy.” 

Ernestine listened to all this with a beating heart, and 
now slipped out gently that the maid might not know 
she had overheard her. Outside she stopped to stroke 
the dog, but the poor thirsty brute growled at her. She 
saw that he had no water, and took his can to the well 
and filled it. When she saw the water gushing so spark- 
ling from the pipe, she could not resist the temptation to 
let it run upon her burning head. 

“ Ernestine, what mischief are you about now ?” the 
housekeeper screamed from the window ; but the water 
was already dripping down from the child’s long hair upon 
her shoulders, breast, and back. 

“ The sun will dry it before I get to the Frau Staats- 
rathin’s,” she thought, and carried the dog his drink ; but , 
when she attempted to pat him, he growled again, because 
he did not wish to be disturbed while drinking. 

“Even the dog does not like me,” she thought, and 
crept away. “ Only a girl ! And my father is so cross 
to me because I am not a boy.” And as she went on she 
repeated the phrase to herself, and her step kept time to 
it as to a tune, “ Only a girl — only a girl I” 

From the window of the upper story her uncle and his 
wife looked after her. The wife presented an utter con- 
trast to her husband. She was uncommonly stout, and 
her jolly face was so flushed that if her husband had 
really been a vampire she might have afforded him nour- 
ishment for a long term of ghostly existence. But he 
was no such monster, although his meagre body seemed 
to bask in his wife’s warm fulness of life as some puny, 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


15 


starving wretch does in the heat of a huge stove. Any 
more poetical comparison is impossible in connection with 
Frau Leuthold ; for, in spite of her massive beauty, her 
thick bushy eyebrows, her sparkling black eyes, her thick 
waves of dark hair, the whole expression of her large face, 
with its double chin and pouting mouth, was coarsely sen- 
sual. Yet there was something in this expression that 
showed that, however great the dissimilarity between the 
husband and wife in mind and body, there was still one 
thing in which they were alike : it was the heart, — in his 
case ossified, in hers overgrown with fat. 

There are some persons whose mental organization can 
be excellently well described by the medical term “fat- 
hearted.” They are no longer capable of any healthy 
moral activity, because an indolent sensuality has taken 
possession of them, crippling their energies like fat accu- 
mulating around the heart. Although the natures of hus- 
band and wife were radically dissimilar, still in the results 
of their modes of thought there was enough similarity to 
produce that sort of harmony which is maintained between 
the receiver and the thief. The stout brunette was a worthy 
accomplice of her slender, fair husband ; and that she pos- 
sessed the art of sweetening existence for him after a 
fashfon, to which no one possessing nerves of taste and 
smell is altogether insensible, a table, upon which were 
delicious fruits, biscuits, and a bowl of iced sherbet, bore 
ample testimony. Thus the refined thinker endured the 
narrowness and coarseness of his better half for the sake 
of material qualifications, and of the ease with which she 
entered into his projects for selfish aggrandizement. As 
a cook she possessed his entire approbation, and the union 
between these utterly different natures was universally 
considered a happy one. 

“ She’s an ugly thing, that Ernestine,” said the affec- 
tionate aunt, looking after her pale little niece, who was 
walking slowly along with drooping head. “ Kind as I 
mav be to her, she will have nothing to say to me. They 
say dogs and children always know who likes them and 
who does not ; so I suppose the child knows I can’t abide 
her.” 

“Whether you like her or not is not the question,” 


16 


ONLY A GIRL} 


replied her husband. “You have not attached her to 
you, and that is a mistake ; for it makes us sharers in the 
common report of Hartwich’s cruelty to the child. She 
is considered in the village as the victim of unfeeling 
treatment. The pastor thinks her a martyr, whose cause 
he is bound to adopt ; the schoolmaster talks about her 
clear head; and who can tell that all this nonsense may 
not waken the conscience of my fool of a brother, and 
induce him at the eleventh hour to make. Heaven only 
knows what changes for her advantage I That would be 
a blow — such people easily fall from one extreme into 
the other. Therefore the child must be separated from 
him. If I cannot succeed in having her sent away, we 
must manage somehow to attach her to us, and so stop 
people’s mouths.” An involuntary sigh from his wife 
interrupted him. “I know it is troublesome, up-hill work ; 
but. Heaven willing, it cannot last long. Hartwich is 
failing. He may live a year ; but, if he should have 
another stroke, he may go off at any moment ; then, for 
all I care, you may be rid of the disagreeable duty at 
once, and send Ernestine to boarding-school. Still, ap- 
pearances must be kept up, my dear. You know how 
much I would sacrifice for the sake of my reputation. I 
cannot bear a shabby dress or to dine off a soiled ttible- 
cloth ; and just so I cannot endure a stain upon my 
name.” 

While speaking, he had seated himself at the table and 
filled a goblet of sherbet from the fragrant bowl. As he 
was sipping it delicately, with his lips almost closed, his 
wife threw herself down upon the sofa by his side with 
such clumsy violence that the springs creaked, and her hus- 
band was so jolted that he lost his balance, and the con- 
tents of his glass were spilled upon his immaculate shirt- 
front. Much annoyed, he carefully dried his dripping 
garment with his napkin. “Now I shall have to dress 
again,” he said in a tone of vexation. 

“ To spill your glass over you just in the midst of such 
a conversation as this 'means no good,” said his super- 
stitious wife. 

“ It means that you never will learn to conduct your- 
self like a lady,” was the quiet reply. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. It 

“Indeed I” she cried with a laugh. “So I must learn 
aristocratic manners that I may do more credit to your 
brother, who has drunk himself into an apoplexy I A fine 
aristocrat he is !” 

“ Just because he disgraces his standing I will respect 
mine ; and you should assist me to do so, instead of 
laughing. And when his estate is ours, I will show the 
world that it is not necessary to be born in an aristocratic 
cradle in order to be an aristocrat. The dismissed Mar- 
burg professor will yet play a part among the elite of the 
scientific and fashionable world that a prince might envy 
him Wealth is all-powerful; and where there is wealth 
with brains, men are caught like flies upon a limed twig.” 

“Ah, how fine it will be I” cried his wife, excited by this 
view of the subject ; and she hastily filled a glass from the 
bowl and drank it greedily. 

“ It is indeed such good fortune that a man less self-con- 
trolled than myself might well-nigh lose his senses at 
the thought of it I” her husband rejoined. And there was 
a dreamy look in his light-blue eyes. 

“ Then we can keep a carriage, and I shall drive out 
shopping, with footmen to attend me, and Gretchen shall 
have a French bonne, and shall be always dressed in 
white and sky-blue. We will live in the capital, and you, 
Leuthold, need never do another day’s work, — you can 
amuse yourself in any way that pleases you.” 

And the wife tossed her head proudly, as though al- 
ready lolling upon the soft cushions of her carriage. 

“ Do you suppose 1 could ever be a robber of time ?” he 
asked her with a sharp glance. “ No, most certainly not. 
If 1 had made the ten commandments, the seventh should 
have been, ‘ Thou shalt not steal a day from the Lord.’ 
He who steals a day seems to me the most contemptible 
of all thieves.” 

His wife laughed and displayed a double row of fine 
white teeth, whose strength she was just proving by 
cracking hazel-nuts. 

“ Do you suppose,” continued Leuthold, “that I should 
ever be content with the reputation of a merely wealthy 
man? No; 1 long for other honours. As soon as the means 
are in my power, I will resume my old scientific labours, 

2 * 


18 


ONLY A OIRL; 


and will soon distance the miserable drudges who daily 
lecture in our schools. I will have such a chemical 
and physiological laboratory as few universities can boast. 
Ah 1 when I am once free from all the hated servitude, 
the miserable toil day after day, in that detestable factory, 
I will bathe in the clear, fresh stream of science, and 
make a name for myself that shall rank among the first of 
our time.” 

“ Is that all the happiness you propose to yourself?” 
asked his wife with a sneer. 

“ There is no greater happiness than to play a great 
part in the world through one’s own ability; and if my 
povert}^ has hitherto prevented my doing so, my wealth, 
in making me independent, shall help me to my goal. Make 
a man independent, and he has free play for the exercise 
of his talents ; while the hard necessity of earning his daily 
bread has crushed many a budding genius before his 
powers were fully developed. It is glorious to be able 
to work at what we love ! — as glorious as it is miserable 
to be forced to work at what we hate.” He smoothed 
with his hand his thin, glossy hair, and murmured with 
a sigh, “ No wonder it is growing gray; I wonder it is 
not snow-white, since for ten years this miserable fate has 
been mine. It is enough to destroy the very marrow in 
one’s bones, and dry up the blood in the veins.” 

His wife stared at him with surprise. “ Why, Leu- 
thold, think what good dinners I have always cooked 
for you I” 

Leuthold looked up as if awakening from a dream, and 
then, with the ironical expression which his unsuspicious 
fellow-men interpreted as pure benevolence, he said, 
“You are right, Bertha 1 Your first principle is ‘eat 
and drink;’ mine is ‘think and work.’ That yours is 
much the more practical can be mathematically proved I” 
He glanced with a smile at his wife’s portly figure. 

“ Only wait until we are settled in the capital, and see 
what I will do for you. Then you shall have dinners 
indeed I” said Bertha. 

“ Your skill will be needed, for we shall have plenty of 
guests. Men are like dogs : they gather where there is a 
chance of a good dinner, and the host is sure of many 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


19 


friends devoted to him through their palates. Tis true, 
such friends last only as long as the fine dinners last ; we 
can have them while we need them, and throw them over- 
board, like useless ballast, when they can no longer serve 
our turn.’^ 

“ Yes, you are right ; what a knowing fellow you are I” 
cried Bertha. “ Heavens 1’’ she added, clapping her hands 
with childlike naivete, “ if he would only die soon !” 

Her husband looked at her sternly. “ I trust that in 
case of the event, which will be as welcome to me as to 
you, no human eye will be able to discern anything but 
grief in your countenance. Should you be too awkward 
to simulate sorrow, I must invent some method for 
making you really feel it ; for appearances must be pre- 
served at all costs I Remember that 

Bertha clasped her hands in dismay. “ Mercy on me 1 
I really believe you would do anything to torment me 
into seeming sorry. It would be just like you ; for what 
people say of you, — or ‘ appearances,^ as you call it, are 
dearer to you than wife or child, or anything else in the 
world.’’ 

She sprang up, and her breath came quick and angrily. 
Leuthold contemplated her with a kind of satisfaction as 
she §tood before him with flashing eyes and curling lip. 
She displayed some emotion, — only the emotion of anger, 
’tis true ; but as enthusiasm is always passionate, so pas- 
sion will sometimes seem enthusiasm, and lend a kind of 
nimbus to insignificance. 

“ I like to see you so !” said Leuthold, drawing her 
down beside him and laying his cool hand upon her 
shoulder. 

Just then the cry of a child was heard in the ad- 
joining apartment. “ Gretchen is awake,” cried Bertha, 
forgetting her anger, and leaving the room so quickly 
that the boards creaked beneath her heavy tread, and the 
sofa upon which her husband was seated shook. She 
soon returned, with a pretty child of three years of age in 
her arms. After tossing it, notwithstanding its size and 
strength, up and down like an india-rubber ball, she threw 
it with maternal pride into her husband’s lap. He caressed 
the little thing tenderly, and a ray shot from his eyes like 


20 


ONLY A GIRL; 


the gleam of a wintry sun across a snowy landscape. 
For, though there was no genuine paternal love in his 
heart, there was at least in its place, — what is hardly to 
be distinguished from it, — fatherly pride. 

‘‘IIovv strange to think,” said the mother, “that that 
should be your child I” 

“ Why ?” asked Leuthold with surprise. 

“ It is so odd that such a slim, delicate-looking man as 
you are should have such a healthy, chubby little daugh- 
ter. It is just as if a wheat-stalk should bear penny 
rolls instead of wheat-ears.” She laughed immoderately 
at the idea, without perceiving that her husband was far 
from flattered by the comparison. “ They say,” she con- 
tinued, “ ‘ long waited for is good at last,’ and we waited 
long for the little thing, and she is good.” And she put up 
the child’s plump little hand to her mouth as though she 
would bite it. The little girl shouted with glee, and the 
sound so sweet to maternal ears did not fail to awaken 
a return. Bertha shouted too, until her husband’s ears 
tingled. “ If Ernestine had only been a boy, she could 
have married Gretchen, and our child would have been 
all provided for,” she said, after a pause. 

“ Do not talk such nonsense,” said Leuthold. “ Ilart- 
wich would have loved a son as thoroughly as he detests 
his daughter, and would have bequeathed to him all his 
property. We owe our inheritance there to the happy 
chance that made his child a girl. But even supposing 
that she were a boy, with the inheritance still ours, do 
you think I would mate her so unworthily? No I our 
Gretchen, lovely and rich as she will be, can never marry 
a simple Herr von Hartwich. She will one day make 
me father-in-law to some great statesman, some illustrious 
scholar, or, at least, to some count 1” 

“And me mother to a countess I” cried his wife with glee. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


21 


CHAPTER II. 

THE STORY OP THE UGLY DUCKLING. 

In the mean time Ernestine had pursued her way. 
She walked slowly on through the extensive fields in 
the glare of the four-o’clock sun, whose rays were broken 
by no friendly tree or shrub. The waist of the dress 
which she had outgrown was so tight that she was 
frequently obliged to stand still and recover her breath. 
The perspiration rolled down her poor worn little face. 
The sunbeams felt like dagger-points upon her weary 
head ; but she could not go back : fear of her father was 
more powerful than the torments she was enduring. 
Better to be pierced by the sun’s rays than. struck by her 
father’s hard hand. Still, she could not help weeping 
bitterly that every one seemed so unkind to her. What 
had she done, that her father should hate her so ? It was 
not her fault that she was so ugly and not a boy. “Ah, 
why am I a girl ?” she sobbed, and sat down upon the 
hard, sun-baked clods of earth among the brown, dried 
potato-plants. She clasped her knees with her arms, and 
pondered why boys were better than girls, wondering 
whether she could not learn to do all that boys could. 
The schoolmaster had often told her that she had more 
sense and learned her lessons better than the boys. What 
was it that she needed, then ? Strength, boldness, cour- 
age! Yes, that was a good deal, to be sure ; but could 
she not make them hers in time? She thought and 
thought. She would exercise her strength. She had 
once read of a man who carried a calf about in his arms 
daily, and was so accustomed to his burden that he never 
noticed how the calf increased in size and weight, until 
at last he bore a huge ox in his arms. She would do so 
too ; she would accustom herself at first to the weight of 
little burdens, and go on increasing them until at last she 
could carry the very heaviest. And she cpuld be bold 
too, if she only dare^ and if her shyness would only wear 


22 


ONLY A GIRL; 


off. Then, she hoped, her father would be quite content 
with her. She sprang to her feet comforted and walked on. 
Her mind was made up. She would be just like a boy. 

At the end of an hour Ernestine reached a beautiful 
and extensive grove, through which she passed, and en- 
tered a garden, at the end of which stood a charming 
country-house. Upon the wide lawn in front, a merry 
throng of children were running and leaping hither and 
thither, and from the fresh green a sparkling fountain 
tossed into the air a crystal ball. At the open doors of 
a room leading out into the garden sat a company of 
elegantly -dressed ladies and gentlemen, and servants 
in rich liveries were handing around refreshments upon 
silver salvers. Ernestine stood as if dazzled by all this 
pomp and splendour. She dared not approach. How 
could she? To whom could she turn? No one came 
towards her; no one spoke to her. Her embarrassment 
was indescribable, when suddenly the beautiful, gaily- 
dressed children on the lawn broke off their play and 
looked towards her with astonishment. Ernestine saw 
how the little girls nudged each other and pointed at her. 
She distinctly heard some say to the others, “ What does 
she want?” She was almost on the point of turning 
round to run away, when she was observed by the group 
of ladies and gentlemen, and a servant was dispatched 
to ask whom she was looking for. Everything swam 
before her eyes as the tall man with such a distinguished 
air stepped up to her and asked sharply, “ What do you 
want here ?” 

“Nothing,” replied Ernestine; “I would not have 
come if 1 had known!” 

“Who are you, then?” asked the servant. 

“I am Ernestine Hartwich.” 

“Ah, indeed!” he said, with a slight bow; “that^s 
another affair; you are invited. Permit me.” With 
these words he conducted the passive child to the ladies, 
and announced, “Friiulein von Hartwich !” 

The looks that were now fastened upon Ernestine 
were more piercing and burning, she thought, than the 
sun’s rays. Those people never dreamed that the quiet 
little creature standing before them was possessed of a 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


23 


soul so delicate in its organization, so finely strung, that 
every breath of contempt that swept across it created a 
shrill discord, a painful confusion ; they only looked with 
the careless disapproval, which would have been all very 
well with ordinary children, at the straight, black, dishev- 
elled hair, the sunken cheeks, the wizened, sharp features 
of the pale face, the deep dark eyes, with their shy, un- 
certain glances, the lips tightly closed in embarrassment, 
and last, the emaciated figure in its faded short dress, and 
the long, narrow feet and hands. In the minds of most, 
an ugly exterior excites more disgust than sympathy; 
and, to excuse this feeling to one’s self, one is apt to de- 
clare that the child or person in question has an “un- 
pleasant expression,” thus hinting at moral responsibility 
in the matter of the exterior, as if it were the result of 
an ugliness of soul which would, in a measure, excuse 
one’s disgust. This was the case with all who were now 
looking at this strange child. It seemed as though they 
were drinking in with their eyes the poison that had 
wasted Ernestine’s little body, — the poison of hatred 
which her being had imbibed from her father and her 
unnatural surroundings, and as if this poison reacted from 
them upon herself. The little girl felt this instinctively 
without comprehending it, and as she met, one after 
another, those loveless glances, it was as though a wound 
in her flesh were ruthlessly probed. She could not under- 
stand what the ladies whispered to each other in French, 
but their tones intimated displeasure and contempt. She 
suddenly saw herself as in a mirror through their eyes, 
and she saw, what she had never seen before, that she 
was very ugly and awkward, — that she was meanly 
dressed ; and shame for her poor innocent self flushed her 
cheeks crimson. In that single minute she ate of the fruit 
of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, — that fruit 
which has driven thousands, sooner or later, from the 
Eden of childlike unconsciousness. She had entered upon 
that stage of life where a human being is self-accused 
for being unloved, unsought, — despises herself because 
others despise her, — finds herself ugly because she gives 
pleasure to none. Hitherto, whatever she had sufl'ered, 
she had been at peace with herself ; now she was at 


24 


ONLY A GIRL; 


enmity with herself and the world. She felt suffocated ; 
everything swam before her sight, and hot tears gushed 
from her eyes. Just then a tall, stately woman came out 
of the drawing-room. “ Frau Staatsrathin,” one of the 
ladies called to her in a tone of contempt, “ a new guest 
has arrived 1” 

“ Is that little Ernestine Hartwich asked the hostess, 
evidently endeavouring to conceal behind a kindly tone 
and manner her amazement at the child’s appearance. 
She held out her hand : “ Good day, my child ; 1 am glad 
you have come. Will you not take some refreshment? 
You seem heated. You have not walked all the way? 
Yes ? Oh, that is too much in such hot weather 1 Such 
a delicate child I” she said with a look of sympathy. 
She sprinkled sugar over some strawberries and placed 
Ernestine on a seat where she could eat them, but the 
rest all stared at her so she could not move a finger ; she 
could scarcely hold the plate. How could she eat while 
all these people were looking on ? She trembled so that 
she could not carry the spoon to her lips. 

She choked down the rising tears as well as she could, 
for she was ashamed to cry, and said softly, “ I would 
like to go home 1” 

“ To go home ?” cried the Staatsrathin. “ Oh, no, my 
child ; you have had no time to rest, and you are so tired I 
Come, my dear little girl, I will take you to a cool room, 
where you can take a little nap before you play with the 
other children.” She took Ernestine by the hand and led 
her into the house and through several elegant rooms to 
a smaller apartment, with half-closed shutters and green 
damask furniture and hangings, where it was as quiet, 
fresh, and cool as in a grove. The air was fragrant, too; 
for there was a basket of magnificent roses upon the table. 

Ernestine was speechless with admiration at all the 
beauty around’ her here. She had never seen such a 
beautiful room in her life, never breathed within-doors 
so pure an atmosphere. The Staatsrathin told her to lie 
down upon a green damask couch, which she hesitated 
to do, until at last she took off her dusty boots, heedless 
that she thereby exposed stockings full of holes, and 
when the Staatsrathin, with a kindly “ Take a good nap, 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


26 


my child,” left her, and she was alone, a flood of novel 
sensations overpowered her. The pain of the last few mo- 
ments, gratitude for the kindness of the Staatsrathin, 
the enchantment that wealth and splendour cast around, 
every childish imagination, — all combined to confuse her 
thoughts. But the solitude of the cool room soon had a 
soothing effect upon her. The green twilight was good 
for her eyes, weary with weeping and the glare of the 
sun ; she felt so far away from those mocking, prying 
glances ; everything was so calm and quiet here that she 
seemed to hear the flowing of her own blood through her 
veins. She thought of the ironing-room and her father’s 
gloomy chamber at home. What a difference there was 1 
Oh, if she could only stay here forever! How can peo- 
ple ever be unkind who have such a lovely home 1 How 
can they laugh at a poor child who has nothing of all this ! 

But the Frau Staatsrathin, whose room this was, 
was kind. Ah, how kind I Yet so different from every 
one at home — so — what ? So distinguished I Yes, every 
one at home seemed common compared with her, and 
Ernestine herself was common, although the lady had 
not treated her as if she were ; she felt it herself, and was 
ashamed. What if the lady could have seen how naughty 
she had been to-day, how she had torn off her dress and 
stamped upon it, and scolded Frau Gedike ? 

She blushed at these thoughts, and resolved never 
again to conduct herself so that she should be ashamed to 
have the Frau Staatsrathin see her. A new sense was 
suddenly awakened in the child ; but it fluttered hither 
and thither like a timid bird, terrified by her late sur- 
roundings, and not yet accustomed to all that was so 
novel about her. 

The child never dreamed of the innate refinement 
that distinguished her from thousands of ordinary chil- 
dren ; she was only crushed as she compared herself with 
the gentle lady and the gaily-dressed children upon the 
lawn ; and this very feeling of shame, this disgust at her- 
self, was a proof how foreign to her 3 "outhful mind was 
the absence of beauty in her exterior. In the midst of 
all these new. confusing thoughts, sleep overpowered her; 
she stretched herself out comfortably upon the soft couch. 

3 


26 


ONLY A GIRL; 


The beating of her heart, the painful pressure upon her 
brain, and the singing in her ears, grew fainter and weaker, 
and soothed her to slumber like a cradle-song. 

On the lawn, in the mean time, nothing was talked of 
but the child and her family. It was thought incon- 
ceivable that a Freiherr von Hartwich should allow his 
daughter to be so neglected. But then he had never 
been a genuine aristocrat ; for his mother was of low ex- 
traction, as was proved by her return to her own rank 
of life after the death of her husband Yon Hartwich. She 
soon after married the widower Gleissert, thus giving her 
son a master-manufacturer for a father, then purchased 
her husband’s heavily encumbered factory, which she had 
bequeathed to her son with the condition that he should 
continue to keep it up, — a condition most distasteful to the 
heir. Gleissert had a son by his first marriage, named 
Leuthold, who had studied, but had not been much of a 
credit to his brother, with whom he was living at 
present. 

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of an 
elderly gentleman, who drove up in a very elegant but 
very dusty carriage. The number of orders upon his 
breast testified to his high position, and the haste with 
which the hostess went forward to receive him, and the 
trembling of the hand which she extended towards him, 
showed of what importance his' arrival was to her. 

“ Yivat 1” he cried out to her. “ Your Johannes takes 
the first rank — a splendid examination — there has not 
been such another for ten years 

“ Thank God I” said the Staatsrathin, with a long sigh 
of relief. 

“Yes, yes!” the kindly voice continued. “A superb 
fellow 1 1 congratulate you upon such a son — not a 

question missed — not one I And answered with such 
ease and confidence, yet without the slightest ])article of 
conceit. Deuce take it! — 1 wish I had married and had 
such a son. Come,” he said, turning to a boy of about 
fourteen years of age, who had arrived with him, “ j)er- " 
haps you may one day be such another, — keep your eyes 
steadily upon Johannes. Permit me, dear madam, to 
present to you the son of my late friend, Ferdinand Hils- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


27 


born. He lost his mother a few months ago, and is now 
my adopted son,” 

The Staatsrathin held out her hand to the boy, and 
said with emotion, “ Although I never knew your mother, 
it pains me deeply to know that she left this world before 
she could enjoy such a moment as your adopted father has 
just given me by his tidings.” 

The gentle boy’s eyes filled with tears as she spoke. 

“ Only think, my dear friends,” said the Staatsrathin, 
turning to the company, “Johannes never told me that 
this was his examination-day, that he might surprise me. 
I only learned it this afternoon from a few thoughtless 
words of my brother’s. Our kind Geheimrath Heim has 
just brought me the tidings of his promotion.” 

The guests, with sympathy and congratulations, 
crowded around the proud mother, whose heart was too 
full to do anything but reply mechanically to their kind 
speeches. 

“ But, dear Frau Mollner,” a Frau Landrathin remarked 
maliciously, “was it not a little strange that your Jo- 
hannes should not have told you of his examination-day ? 
— certainly a mother has a sacred right to share such 
hours with her son.” 

“ When a mother’s claims are held as sacred as are 
mine by my son,” replied the Staatsrathin, with dignified 
composure, “ he may well be left to do as seems to him 
best in such a matter. He wished to spare me hours of 
anxiety ; and I thank him.” 

“ The woman is blindly devoted to her son,” the Land-- 
rathin whispered to a friend. 

“ She Is growing perfectly childish with maternal 
vanity,” remarked another. 

“ But how can any one as wealthy as the Staatsrathin 
allow her son to study ?” said the Landrathin. 

“Yes, yes I” several others joined in, “he certainly 
need never earn his living in such a way. Why did she 
not buy him a commission ? ’Tis too bad for such a hand- 
some young man I” 

“Yes, yes!” the old Geheimrath called out to the 
ladies, as if he had heard only their last words, “Johan- 
nes is a man, — a man, although hardly twenty years old I 


28 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Only such a mother could have such a son I” And he 
laid his hand kindly upon the Staatsrathin’s arm. 

“ I wish every woman, left alone in the world, had 
such a friend as you are,” she said, holding out her hand 
to him gratefully. “ You are the best legacy left me by 
my dear husband. But where is Johannes? Why did 
he not come with you ?” 

“ He sent me before to announce his arrival in the 
evening,” replied the old gentleman. “ He was obliged 
to make a few visits this afternoon. Ah,” he sighed, as 
the Staatsrathin handed him some refreshments, “ it is a 
hot journey hither from town, — and a tedious one too, — 
but it is all the cooler and more delightful when you get 
here.” He wiped his forehead and looked around the 
circle with the kindly, penetrating glance of a man who 
sees through the weaknesses of his fellow-men, but judges 
them with the gentleness of a superior nature. “ Well, 
ladies,” he asked good-humouredly, “did the old doctor 
interrupt a most interesting conversation ? I cannot be- 
lieve that sitting here so silent and serious is your normal 
condition. What were you talking of when I arrived ?” 

“ Of nothing very pleasant, Herr Geheimrath,” said 
the Landriithin venomously; “we were only speaking 
of Herr von Hartwieh and of his brother, who went 
wrong some years ago, — we don’t know exactly how.” 

“I can tell you all about it, ladies,” said the Geheimrath. 

All instantly entreated him, “ Oh, tell us ; pray tell us I’^ 

The Geheimrath began : “ I was professor of medicine 
at Marburg when that strange occurrence took place. It 
was about ten years ago. Gleissert was then Extraordi- 
narius in the university, and a young man of great ability. 
By his diligence and insinuating manners, he had won for 
himself the good-will of every one; and one of my col- 
leagues, Hilsborn, the father of the boy whom 1 brought 
with me to-day, was his intimate friend. Their speciaLile 
was the same, and Hilsborn filled the professorial chair 
which was the object of Gleissert’s desire. Both were 
physiologists, but Hilsborn had the chair of special phys- 
iology, and Gleissert, as Extraordinarius, was occupied 
only with physiological chemistry. One day Hilsborn 
confided to me that he was upon the track of a new dis- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


29 


covery. It would be of great importance to science if 
he could only succeed in carrying it out and establishing 
it upon a firm foundation. The difficulty in doing so lay 
principally in the procuring of the necessary material for 
his experiments, — a species of fish found only at Trieste, 
and which he could not procure alive. Hilsborn, a poor 
widow’s son, lamented his want of means to travel thither 
and prove his hypothesis. I promised to obtain for him 
from my friend the minister, by the next vacation, a 
sufficient sum to meet his expenses, and I did so; but 
there was the same delay in the matter that is usual in 
such cases, and the necessary sum came so late that the 
journey had to be postponed until the following vacation, 
Hilsborn comforting himself with the thought that, al- 
though he must wait another six months, nothing but 
time would be lost. Suddenly Herr Gleissert married 
the daughter of a wealthy innkeeper, and begged for 
leave of absence for his wedding-trip. It was granted, 
and he was absent for four weeks. Strangely enough, 
his friend never heard from him during all that time ; 
and, when he returned, we all noticed that he was un- 
willing to let us know where he had been. We thought 
he had private grounds for such unwillingness, and did 
not question him further. The term was over at last, 
and Hilsborn set off for Trieste. There he worked night 
and day with superhuman diligence. The result of his 
investigations was perfectly satisfactory, and he came 
back with the materials for a work which was sure to 
establish his fame and fortune. One day — I shall never 
forget it — he was in my room when the publisher sent 
me several new scientific papers. Hilsborn was look- 
ing through them carelessly, when suddenly he grew 
ashy pale. Among the pamphlets was one by Gleissert, 
embodying Hilsborn’s idea. I was as shocked and as- 
tounded as he was. It could not be chance which led 
two men at the same time to so novel an idea, especially , 
as Gleissert’s course of study could not have directed 
him to such investigations as Hilsborn’s. After a long 
and evident struggle with himself, Hilsborn confessed 
to me that he had communicated his ideas to Gleissert, 
and had frequently from the beginning discussed the mat- 
s’*' 


30 


ONLY A GIRL; 


ter thoroughly with him, without Gleissert’s ever hinting 
even that the subject had occurred to him before. On the 
contrary, he was at work upon a paper upon a chemical 
subject, a paper which had never appeared. DiflQcult as it 
was for my high-minded friend to bring himself to it, the 
conviction was unavoidable that his friend had basely 
deceived him ; for we discovered, upon close inquiry, that 
Gleissert’s wedding-trip had been to Trieste, where he 
had pursued the investigations proposed by Hilsborn, and 
hurried on the printing of their results with the greatest 
haste. . All outside proof of his contemptible treachery 
was perfect, and we were all morally convinced that he 
had stolen Hilsborn’s idea. As pro-rector, I called him 
to a strict account. His defence was cunning, but not 
convincing. He did not attempt to deny the principal 
accusation brought forward, namely, the suspicious fact 
that he had induced Hilsborn to promise him not to im- 
part his discovery to any one else, ‘ lest it should be used 
to his disadvantage.’ He wished to be the sole deposi- 
tary of the secret, that there might be no witnesses to 
Hilsborn’s proprietorship of the stolen idea. I ask this 
worthy assemblage,” the old gentleman here interrupted 
himself with indignation, “if there can be any doubt of 
the baseness of the man in the matter ?” 

“ No, most certainly not, Herr Geheimrath, most cer- 
tainly not,” was the unanimous reply. 

“ Well,” the narrator continued, “ so we thought. We, 
one and all, determined to avenge poor Hilsborn, thus 
deprived of all his fair hopes. It is true we had no legal 
weapon at our disposal. Our stupid laws punish forgers 
and counterfeiters, but they cannot recognize the theft of 
the coinage of the brain. There are jails for the hungry 
beggar who steals a loaf ; but the rogue who robs a man of 
his thought, the painfully-begotten fruit of his mind after 
years of labour, goes free. We professors undertook to do 
what the law does not. We published the matter far and 
wide in the scientific periodicals, and all banded in our 
resignations to the government, stating that we held it 
inconsistent with our honour to remain the colleagues of 
such a man. Of course Gleissert was instantly dismissed 
in disgrace, and an academic career closed to him foreven 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


31 


I was called away from Marburg soon after ; and, since 
I have lived in the capital as royal physician, I have lost 
sight of my former colleagues. Hilsborn died after some 
years, and his son is now my adopted child. What 
became of Gleissert I do not know.” 

“ I can tell you,” said a fine-looking man, whose re- 
semblance to the Staatsrathin declared him her brother. 
“ I have informed myself about matters here, because I 
propose to purchase Hartwich^s factories for my son. 
According to the schoolmaster, the fellow is playing a 
double part here also. It cannot be denied that under 
his guidance, and owing to his chemical discoveries, the 
factories have doubled in value since his arrival, for 
Ilartwich is a very narrow-minded man, incapable, from 
his wretched avarice, of venturing upon any important 
speculation ; but the way in which his brother contrives 
to be paid for his services is, to say the least, striking. 
For five years he contented himself with the salary of an 
overseer and free lodging — he bided his time. It came 
at last. One day Herr von Hartwich had a paralytic 
stroke, and the physicians declared that he had but few 
years to live. Gleissert made use of this time of help- 
lessness, and threatened to leave the factory immediately 
and dispose of his discoveries elsewhere if Ilartwich did 
not appoint him his heir. Hartwich, who of course stood 
more in need of him than ever, accepted his conditions, 
set aside that poor little girl as far as the law would 
allow it, and made a will in Gleissert’s favour.” 

“He’s a thorough scoundrel, that Gleissert, — a legacy- 
hunter, then, besides. I should like to know what the 
fellow holds sacred ?” 

“ Let us ask the child about him,” cried one of the ladies. 

“ Yes, yes,” joined in several others. “ It would be 
so interesting. Pray, dear Staatsrathin, bring the little 
girl here.” 

The Staatsrathin looked at her watch, and, finding that 
Ernestine had slept nearly an hour, went to fetch her. 
She soon returned with her, and again the child had to 
^un the gauntlet of those piercing glances. But her rest 
had refreshed her, and she was not so timid. 

She heard the old Geheimrath whisper to his next neigh- 


32 


ONLY A GIRL; 


hour, “ How did that stupid Hartwich ever come to have 
such a clever child ? Look — what a remarkable head. 
Pity the little thing is not a boy 1 something might be 
made of her I” 

His words struck to her very soul. Again she heard 
the same phrase, — this time from a perfect stranger, “ Pity 
she’s not a boy I” 

She straightened herself, as though she had suddenly 
grown an inch taller, and looked up at the thoughtless 
speaker as if to say, “ Something shall be made of me I” 
Then she glanced wistfully at the children who were 
playing ball ; if she were only among them now, she 
would show that she could be like a boy. The Land- 
rathin took her hand and said, “ Well, my dear child, tell 
us something of your father. How is he now ?” 

Ernestine seemed surprised at the question. — “ I did nVt 
ask him.” 

The ladies looked significantly at each other. 

“ Have you not seen him to-day ?” 

“Yes,” she answered briefly. 

“ Do you not love your father very dearly ?” the Land- 
rathin asked further. 

Ernestine paused, and then said quietly and firmly, 
“No I” 

Her interrogator dropped the child’s hand as if stung 
by an insect. “ An affectionate daughter 1” she sneered, 
while the rest shook their heads. “ Whom do you love, 
then ? — your uncle?” 

“ 1 love no one at home ; but I like my uncle better than 
my father — he never strikes me I” Ernestine answered. 

“ Like likes like, as it seems,” one of the ladies ob- 
served ; the rest nodded assent, and all turned away from 
Ernestine. 

“She is an unfortunate child,” said the Staatsrathin ; 
and arose to lead her to the children. “Angelika, here 
is Ernestine von Hartwich,” she cried to her own little 
iaughter, who was about nine years old; “take good 
care of her, — remember you are hostess I” 

The children, towards whom the Staatsrathin led her 
protege, scattered like a flock of birds at the approach of 
a paper kite. Collecting then in single groups, they 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


33 


whispered together, and stared at the stranger. Ernes- 
tine found herself alone, avoided by all the gay crowd 
which she had just so fervently admired. She played 
the part of a scarecrow, but with the melancholy supe- 
riority that she was conscious that she was one. She 
knew that she had scattered the gay circle, that she had 
chased away the children, that they all avoided her ; and 
again she felt as if she should sink into the ground, her 
feeble limbs trembled beneath the burden of derision and 
contempt that she was forced to bear. The Staatsrathin 
cast a stern glance — which Ernestine noticed — at little An- 
gelika^ and said, “Give your hand to your new friend!” 

Two of the larger girls giggled, and Ernestine heard 
them whisper, “ A lovely friend !” 

Angelika now approached Ernestine, and held out her 
soft little hand, but instantly withdrew it, stood mute be- 
fore her for a moment, looking at the old brown straw hat 
that Ernestine held in her hand, then ventured one look 
into her eyes, and nestled confused and shy against her 
mother, who spoke seriously but kindly to the pretty 
child. She spoke in French, and Angelika answered in 
the same language. Ernestine was amazed. The little 
girl understood a strange tongue, and yet she was smaller 
than herself I She, who wanted to be as clever as a boy, 
did not even know as much as the little girl. And she 
had to endure their speaking before her as if she were 
not present; there she stupidly stood, well knowing that 
they were saying nothing good of her or they would 
have said it in German. She was weighed down by a 
double disgrace, that of her ignorance, and of knowing that 
they were speaking of her as if she were not there. 

“ Frau Staatsrathin,” she said in a quivering voice, 
“ I will not stay here ; the children do not like me ; I am 
too bad for them!” She turned away, and would really 
have gone, but little Angelika’s good heart conquered. 

She ran after her and held her fast : “No, no, dear Ernes- 
tine ; you are not too bad for us; you are only odd — (dif- 
ferent from the rest of us. C6me, we will play with yoii!” 

Then the Staatsrathin took Angelika in her arms, and 
kissed her, saying, “That’s right; now you are my little 
Angelika again, my good sweet child.” 


34 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Ernestine looked on at this caress with amazement, 
and hot tears rose to her eyes. No one had ever been 
so kind to her. What happiness it must be to be so em- 
braced and kissed! But it could never happen to her. 
Why not? Why did no one love her? Angelika, too, 
was only a girl: why was she not blamed for it? But 
she was so lovely, so beautiful; who could help loving 
her ? Then her heart gave a throb as though it had been 
stabbed with a knife. “ So beautiful,” she repeated : 

that is why every one pets and fondles her. It is not 
only that I am a girl ; I am an ugly girl, — that is why 
no one loves me.” 

“ Come,” said Angelika. “ Why do you look so ? Come 
to the others.” She led her to the fountain, around 
which the little company had gathered meanwhile. The 
children were amusing themselves with throwing stones 
at the ball of glass which the water tossed up and down. 
No girl or boy could hit it; the ball could only be struck 
while it was dancing on the top of the spray, and always 
fell before it was reached. The children laughed merrily 
at each other, and even the parents and grown people 
were interested and drew near: Ernestine looked on 
after her usual brooding fashion. She soon divined where 
the mistake lay. The stone was longer in reaching its 
aim than the ball lingered in the air. She quickly 
concluded that if a stone were aimed at the top of the 
fountain while the ball was still below, the latter in as- 
cending would strike the stone. Hilsborn, the boy fourteen 
years old, had just declared that he could not understand 
why they could not strike it. Ambition took possession 
of her. — if she was ugly, she would show them that she 
was clever, — if she was only a girl, she would show them 
that she had force and skill. Involuntarily she looked 
across to the old Geheimrath, to ascertain if he saw her, 
and, as this seemed to be the case, she stooped down and 
hastily picked up a larger stone than the others, to insure 
success, — took the attitude which she had often observed 
in the village boys, and, with her feet planted firmly wide 
apart, swung her arm round three times to take sure aim, 
and hurled the stone with all her force towards the point 
in the air which the fountain reached in its leaping. Fate 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


35 


was cruel enough to favour her ; the stone met the as- 
cending ball, and so exactly that the latter was hurled 
out of the column of water, and, flying over the heads of 
the nearest by-standers, fell upon the head of a child, and 
the thin glass was shivered in pieces. The child screamed, 
more from fright than pain, — a commotion ensued, — the 
mother of the sufferer rushed towards her darling with 
frantic gestures, — the “ wound” was examined, embroi- 
dered handkerchiefs were dipped in the basin of the foun- 
tain and bound around the head, while like a dark cloud 
there hovered over the sympathetic crowd a fear lest 
“ some fragment of glass should have penetrated the 
skull.” Ernestine stood there like a culprit; she felt 
convicted of murder, and when she heard from all sides, 
"What unfeminine conduct I How savage and rudel 
How can they bring up the girl to be such a tom-boy?” 
she was utterly confounded. She had been like a boy, 
and it was all wrong, — what should she do to please 
people and make them like her a little ? Then the old 
Geheimrath approached her and unclasped the hands 
which she was silently but convulsively wringing. " Be 
comforted, you pale little girl, — there is no great harm 
done. In future you must leave such exploits to boys.” 
Then he left her and examined the wound, and declared 
laughingly that he needed a microscope to see it. The 
mothers of the party, however, showed all the more 
sympathy and anxiety in the matter that they were cha- 
grined that Ernestine had displayed more skill than their 
own children. 

Ernestine’s delicate instinct surmised all this. She 
looked at the buzzing throng of her enemies with aver- 
sion, as at a swarm of wasps that she had disturbed. 
She listened to the noise that was made about the slight 
accident with infinite bitterness, and thought how at 
home, when her father’s blows had bruised her, no one 
cared anything about it. When a few days before she 
had fallen and cut her forehead, she had had to wash 
it herself at the brook. And even the old gentleman 
Had said that she should leave such exploits to boys. 
Then must she not contend even with boys if she could ? 
Why not ? Why were they so superior ? It was unjust I 


36 


ONLY A GIRL, 


She clenched her little fists. When she grew up she 
would show people how great the injustice was 1 That 
she was resolved upon. 

Then little Angelika came running up, calling the 
children together for a game. “ Come, Ernestine,’^ she 
cried. “You did not mean to do it, — come, plaj blind- 
man’s buff with us.” 

Ernestine did not venture to make any objection ; she 
was so cowed that she did just as they told her, and let 
them make her “blind man,” and tie the handkerchief 
over her eyes. She never complained, although when 
they were tying on the bandage they pulled her hair so 
that she ground her teeth with pain. And then they all 
began to tease her. One pulled at one of her long locks ; 
another terrified her by putting beetles and caterpillars 
upon her neck, — the usual tricks of the game, that are 
easily borne when they are understood among little 
friends, but enough to drive a shy child, that does not 
know how to defend herself, to despair. No one would be 
caught by the ugly stranger, who had only been admitted 
to the game at the express desire of the hostess, and all 
felt themselves justified in playing all manner of tracks 
upon her. Ernestine caught no one, and ran hither and 
thither in vain. She was too conscientious to raise the 
handkerchief a little that she might see where she was,— 
that would have been acting a falsehood, and she nevef 
told falsehoods. Suddenly a hand seized her straw hat, 
and the worn old brim gave way, and fell upon her 
shoulders like a collar, to the great delight of the rest It 
was a terrible loss for the poor child ; for she knew that 
she should get no other hat at home, but would be pun- 
ished for her carelessness. She grasped after her tor- 
mentor, and seized her by the skirt ; but she was one of 
the larger girls, and tore herself away, leaving a piece of 
her elegant summer dress in Ernestine’s hands, which 
had clutched it tightly. She could not see how the girl 
ran to her mother, bewailing the injury to her dress ; the 
bandage over her eyes beneficently shielded her from per- 
ceiving the angry looks of the ladies, and absorbed the 
tears which she was silently shedding for her straw hat. 
She stood motionless in the middle of the lawn, and did 


OR A PHYSICrAI^ FOR THE SOUL. 37 

not know what to do, — for no children seemed to be near, 
— the game appeared to be interrupted. Suddenly she 
received a sound box on the ear. The younger brother 
of the aggrieved young lady had stolen up and avenged 
his sister. Then the tormented child was filled with 
indignation and rage that almost deprived her of reason. 
She seized the boy as he tried to pass her, and began to 
struggle with him. He forced her backwards, step by 
step. She could not free her hands to untie the bandage ; 
she did not know where she was ; she would not let go 
her enemy, for her sufferings had filled her little heart 
with hate and fury. There was a scream, and at the 
same instant she stumbled over something and fell ; she 
kept her hold of her foe, but she felt that she was up to 
her knees in water, — she had stumbled into the basin 
of the fountain. The guests hurried up. First seizing 
the boy, who was still in Ernestine’s grasp, they placed 
him in safety, and then they helped out the trembling 
child, who stood there with torn, dripping clothes, an 
object of terror and disgust to herself and to everybody 
else. 

What mischief the horrible creature had done ! She 
had almost fractured one child’s skull, she had torn the 
expensive dress of another, and had tried to drown a 
third I 

“ Pray, my dear Staatsrathin, have my carriage or- 
dered,” said one of the injured mothers ; “ one’s life is 
not safe here I” 

“ Supper is ready,” replied the Staatsrathin. “ Let 
me entreat you all to go into the house. I will answer 
for the lives of your children as long as they are my 
guests,” she added with a slight smile. 

The ladies all called their sons and daughters to them, 
to protect them from the little monster, who still stood 
there, bewildered and crushed, upon the lawn, look- 
ing on with a bleeding heart, as the children, laughing 
and joking, clung to their parents, whom they kissed and 
caressed with affectionate freedom. Every child there 
had a mother or a father who fondled it. She — she alone 
was thrust out and forsaken, — no one remembered that 
she was tired and wet through, — no one cared for her. 

4 


38 


ONLY A GIRL; 


The charming little Angelika was everywhere in requisi- 
tion, and could not come to her, — the Staatsrathin was 
entreating her guests to pardon her for inviting a child 
whom she did not know ; how could she possibly sup- 
pose that Herr von Hartwich had a daughter so ne- 
glected ? Ernestine heard it all. She could no longer 
stand, — she fell upon her knees, and, sobbing violently, 
hid her face in her hands. The Staatsrathin was now 
free to come to her, and hastily approached. 

“ Oh, you poor little thing, you are wet through, and 
no one has thought of you,” she cried kindly, at sight of 
Ernestine. “ Go into the house quickly, and put on a pair 
of my little girl’s shoes and stockings; my room is just 
to the right of the drawing-room. Go immediately, — do 
you hear ? I cannot stay away from my guests.” 

“ Forgive me,— it is not my fault!” stammered Ernes- 
tine. 

“ Indeed it is not, my dear child,” said the Staatsrathin 
gravely. “ I only pity you, — I am not angry with you ! 
But hurry now and take off your dress, — I will send you 
your supper to my room. I know you would rather eat 
it alone.” 

And she hastened away to her guests just as a vehicle 
drove up and a strikingly handsome young man about 
twenty years old sprang out and hurried up to her. “ My 
dear boy,” she cried, “ is it you ? I did not expect you 
yet 1” 

The youth kissed her hand and bowed courteously to 
the rest. The Staatsriithin’s eyes rested upon him with 
the pride with which a woman during her life regards 
two men only, — a lover and a darling son. The guests 
surrounded him with congratulations upon the day’s suc- 
cess ; Angelika danced around him, and the other children 
all wanted a hand or a kiss. There was quite a little 
ufrroar of delight. 

Suddenly the Staatsrathin cried out in a startled tone, 
“ Little Ernestine has gone ! Heavens, that poor child 
wet through in the cool evening air! 1 cannot allow it! 
Johannes, my dear son, run quickly, bring her back.” 

“ Who, — what ?” he asked in amazement. 

“But, my dearest Staatsrathin,” said the mother of 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


39 


the boy whom Ernestine’s shot had wounded, “ how can 
you worry yourself about the little witch ? she is tougher 
than our children.” 

The Staatsrathin glanced at her contemptuously, and, 
turning to Johannes, continued : “ She is a pale, meanly- 
clad little girl, eleven or twelve years of age ; you cannot 
miss her if you take the path to Hartwich’s estate ; she 
is his daughter. Hasten, Johannes, hasten 1” He obeyed, 
while she conducted her guests to their sumptuous repast. 

Meanwhile Ernestine ran through the grove as quickly 
as she could, and began to breathe freely as she lost sight 
of the house where she had undergone so much. But 
her strength soon failed her. Her wet shoes and stock- 
ings clung like heavy lumps of lead to her weary feet and 
impeded her steps; she was conscious of gnawing hunger, 
and the first care for the future that she had yet felt in 
her short life assailed her, — she was afraid that it would 
be too late for her to get anything to eat when she 
reached home ; it was growing dark, and it would be ten 
o’clock ; Frau Gedike would be in bed. And that was 
not the worst that she had to look forward to ; the straw 
hat, whose brim was still hanging around her neck, — the 
heavy, torn straw hat, would certainly bring her a severe 
chastisement. She sat down upon a mound on the bor- 
ders of the grove, and took off the brim to see if she could 
contrive some way of fastening it to the crown, which she 
carried in her hand. The tree above her shook its boughs 
compassionately and threw down its leaves upon her 
dishevelled locks. She never heeded them, — the convic- 
tion lay heavy upon her childish heart that she could not 
possibly mend the hat before Frau Gedike would see it. 
Tear after tear dropped upon the fragments, and her large, 
swimming eyes glimmered in the moonlight from out her 
pale face like glow-worms in a lily-cup. Suddenly she 
started violently, for some one stood before her, and she 
recognized the young man whose arrival had just enabled 
her to make her escape. He looked at her silently for a 
while, and then said, “Are you the little girl who camo 
to us to-day, and then ran away secretly ?” 

“ Yes,” stammered Ernestine. 

“ Why have you done so ?” he asked further. 


40 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Ernestine made no reply. She was more ashamed be* 
fore Johannes than before all the rest of the company. 
He was very different from every one else there, — so 
proud and strong, — he would despise her more than the 
others had done, for he was much handsomer and finer 
than they, and worth more than all of them. She did 
not venture to look up at him ; she was afraid of meeting 
another of those glances that had so tortured her. Then 
the young man took her hand and said kindly, ‘‘Well, 
you pale little dryad, can you not speak ? Will you go 
with me, or would you rather spend the night in your 
tree?” 

“ I want to go home I” said Ernestine. 

“ I cannot let you go home. I must take you to my 
mother. She is afraid you will take cold. Come 1” 

Ernestine shrunk back. “ I cannot go there any more 1” 

“ Why not ? What have they done to you ?” 

“ They laughed at me, and jeered me,” cried the irri- 
tated child; “they despised me; and I will not be 
despised I I will not I” 

The young man looked at her thoughtfully. 

“Even if 1 am ugly,” she continued, “and poor, and 
badly taught, and awkward, I will not be treated like a 
dog I” There was a tone of despair in her voice, her 
chest panted within her narrow dress, her teeth chattered 
with cold and excitement. 

“Poor child !” said Johannes; “they must have used 
you ill, — but my mother was surely kind to you ?” 

“ Yes, she was kind, but she was vexed with me at last ; 
I heard her blaming me to the others. And I do not 
want to see her again, — not until I am grown up and can 
be as dignified and gentle as she is.” 

“Are you so certain, then, that you will one day be as 
gentle and dignified ?” asked Johannes smiling. 

“ Yes, the schoolmaster says, and the old gentleman 
said too, that if I were a boy something might be made 
of me. Oh, something shall be made of me, — if I am 
only a girl. I will not always have boys held up to me ; 
when I am grown up, they shall see that a girl is as good 
as a boy ; all these bad, unkind people shall respect me ; 
if they do not, I would rather die I” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


41 


“You queer child !’^ laughed Johannes, “it would he 
hard to tame you. But see, if you stay any longer here 
with me in the night air, you will take cold, and then 
you may die before you have carried out all your resolu- 
tions ; think how bad that will be I” 

With these words he attempted to lead the child away 
with him, but she snatched her hand from him and clung 
to the tree beneath which she had been sitting. “No, 
no,’’ she breathlessly entreated, “dear sir, let me go — do 
not take me back again — please, please, not there I” 

“ Obstinate little thing, you must come,” laughed Jo- 
hannes. “ Do you suppose I can go back without you, after 
having been sent to find you like a stray lamb ? My 
mother would shut me up for three days upon bread and 
water if I did not bring you back ; you would not like 
that, would you ?” 

“ Ah, you are laughing at me. I will not go back with 
you, I will not,” sobbed Ernestine. 

“Will not? What is the use of such words from a 
weak little girl who can be easily carried in arms ?” With 
these words Johannes good-humouredly lifted Ernestine 
from the ground and placed her on his shoulder to take 
her back to the castle. But she succeeded in grasping 
an overhanging branch of the oak-tree just above her, 
and, before Johannes could prevent it, she had swung her- 
self up by it, and was clambering like a squirrel from 
bough to bough. 

“This is delightful!” cried Johannes, much amused; 
“ you are really, then, a dryad in disguise ? Such a prize 
must not escape ; to be sure, I never dreamed to-day, 
when I passed my examination, that the new Herr Doc- 
tor’s first feat would be to climb a tree after a wayward 
little girl ; but the episode is much more poetic than 
marching up and down stairs, making my best bow to my 
old examiners.” During this soliloquy he had taken off 
his coat and climbed into the tree. 

But when he tried to seize Ernestine, she retreated to 
the extremity of the bough upon which she was sitting, 
and was quite out of his reach ; he could not follow her, 
for the slender branch creaked and drooped so, even be- 
neath the child’s light weight, that he momentarily ex- 
4 * 


42 


ONLY A GIRL; 


pected it to break. The jest had become earnest indeed : 
if the little girl fell, she would fall a double distance, — the 
height of the tree and of the hill which the tree crowned. 
Quick as thought the young man swung himself down to 
the ground, and took his station where he might, if pos- 
sible, receive Ernestine in his arms if she fell. For the first 
time he now saw how high she was perched, and a cloud 
before the moon just at the moment prevented his per- 
ceiving the exact direction that she must take in falling. 
His anxiety was intense. The responsibility of a human 
life was suddenly thrust upon him. If he did not succeed 
in catching the falling child, she would shortly lie before 
him, if not a corpse, at least with broken limbs. The 
steep hill, too, made it almost impossible for him to main- 
tain a firm footing ; wherever he planted his feet, they 
slipped continually. The blood rushed to his face ; his 
heartbeat audibly ; with outstretched arms he gazed up at 
the child, who sat above him, all unconscious of her danger. 

“ Little one,” he cried breathlessly, “ the branch where 
you are sitting will not bear you 1 scramble back again, 
or you will fall !” 

“ I will not come down until you promise me not to 
carry me back I I shall not fall,” she panted, and snatched 
at a stronger bough above her, but it sprang back from 
her grasp, leaving only a few twigs in her hand. 

“I will promise anything that you want,” cried Jo- 
hannes in deadly terror, “ only go back quickly to the 
trunk — quickly — quickly 1” 

The bough cracked, just as the child swung herself to- 
wards the trunk, and it fell to the ground, — leaving her 
clinging to the stump where it grew from the trunk ; and 
when Johannes climbed up to her and she could at last 
reach his shoulder, she was trembling so with fright that 
she willingly clasped her thin arms around his neck. 
With difficulty he reached the ground again with his bur- 
den, his hands scratched and bleeding and his shirt-sleeve 
torn. He put down Ernestine, and, stepping back a pace 
or two, regarded her gravely ; then, after wiping the moist- 
ure from his brow, he began in a serious tone of voice, 
“ Do you know what I would do if I were your father ?” 

Ernestine looked up at him inquiringly. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


43 


** I would give you a taste of the rod, that you might 
learn not to frighten people so just for your own way- 
ward whims!” 

These words, prompted by the young man’s irritation 
at the anxiety to which he had been subjected, had a 
fearful effect upon the child. She gave a piercing cry, 
and threw herself upon the ground. “ Oh, nothing but 
blows, blows — he too, he too ! Who will not strike me 
and abuse me ? who is there to take pity upon me ?” 
and she sobbed uncontrollably. 

“ Good heavens,” said Johannes, half compassionately 
and half annoyed, “ was there ever such a child ! First 
you climb into a tree at peril of your life, just that you 
may gratify your self-will, and then a single word of 
blame crushes you to the earth. I never saw anything 
like it !” Saying this, he lifted her up and held her out 
before him in the moonlight, regarding her as one would 
some rare animal or natural curiosity. 

“ Here is a thing,” he said, more to himself than to 
Ernestine, “ so frail and delicate that you could crush 
it in your grasp, but there is such strength of will in 
the little frame that one is forced to yield to it, and 
such a wildly throbbing heart in the little breast that 
one is carried away by it in spite of one’s self. I should 
like to know what odd combinations have produced this 
strange piece of humanity. Do not cry any more, little 
one ; I will not harm you — what eyes the creature has ! 
You are a remarkable child, but I would not like to have 
the charge of you — you would puzzle one well, and force 
and blows would have no effect upon you 1” 

With these words he put her down upon the ground 
again and picked up his coat to put it on. As he did 
so, he felt something hard in the pocket; he looked 
to see what it was, and drew out a book in a splendid 
binding. 

“ Ah,” he cried gaily, “ I had forgotten this. Can you 
read ?” 

Ernestine nodded. She was glad that she had not to 
say no ; how ashamed she would have been I 

“Come, that’s right!” said the young man ; and Er- 
nestine was very proud of those first words of commen- 


44 


ONLY A GIRL; 


datioD, and determined instantly to be doubly diligent, 
that she might some time hear just such another “ That’s 
right I” 

Johannes put the book into her hand. “There, you 
shall have that, that you may carry something pleasant 
home with you after such a dreary day. The stories are 
charming. I brought it out for my little sister Angelika, 
but I could not give it to her because I had to run after you. 
Now I am glad that I have it still and can give it to you.” 

“Yes — but Angelika?” Ernestine asked hesitatingly. 

“ She shall have another to-morrow. Take it, and read 
the story of the Ugly Duckling ; that will comfort you 
when people are cross to you. Take it — why do you 
hesitate ?” 

The child took the book as carefully and timidly as if 
it were in reality a fairy book and would vanish at her 
touch. When she had it in her hands and it did not dis- 
appear, and she could really believe in her happiness in 
receiving such a present, she uttered a scarcely audible 
“ Thank you very much I” but the look that accompa- 
nied the words touched Johannes. 

“You do not often have presents?” he asked. 

“ Never 1” 

“Oh 1 you seem not to be very affectionately treated. 
Does not your mother ever give you anything ?” 

“ I have no mother. She died because I was not a 
boy.” 

“A most remarkable cause of death,” observed Jo- 
hannes, half dryly, half compassionately. 

“ Ah, if I had a mother, everything would be different.” 
And the large tears rolled down over her cheeks. 

“ Listen, little one,” said Johannes kindly, after a 
pause. “ I have a dear mother, and I will share her with 
you — half a mother’s heart is better than none at all. 
Come home with me. You shall be my little sister, and 
you will be gentle enough when you know us better.” 

Ernestine shook her head decidedly. The thought of 
returning to the castle again filled her with dismay. “ No, 
no, never!” she cried in terror. “Your mother would 
not love me — she could not ! You promised me a minute 
ago not to force me to anything, and if you think now 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


45 


that I ought to do as you please, because you have given 
me the book, I would rather uot have it. There, take it — 
I will not have it 1” 

Johannes rejected the offered book with some vexation. 
“ Keep it,” he said. “ I gave it to you unconditionally. 
I only thought that my kindness had made you gentler 
and more docile, but I was wrong. You are not to be 
moved by kindness either. Sad to see a heart so early 
hardened I” 

Ernestine stood motionless, with downcast eyes — she 
scarcely breathed ; the emotions that agitated her were so 
novel, so different from anything she had hitherto expe- 
rienced, that she struggled in vain to give utterance to 
them ; her childish lips had no words to express them. 
She was pained, and yet her pain, although deeper than 
any she had already suffered, had no bitterness in it 
She did not hate him who had caused it — she could have 
kissed his hand, and, falling at his feet, begged him to 
forgive her — but she did not dare to do so. 

“Well,” he asked, after a moment’s silence, “shall I go 
home with you ?” 

Ernestine shook her head. 

“Not that, either? Will you go alone?” he asked 
impatiently. 

Ernestine nodded. 

“ Well, I have promised to do as you pleased, and I 
sliall keep my promise, although I do not think it right to 
leave you to go home alone so late at night. Let me at 
least go with you across the fields? Are you grown 
dumb ?” 

Ernestine lifted to his her large melancholy eyes so be- 
seechingly that he lost his composure. “ You are enough 
to drive one insane, you enigmatical little creature ! Who 
taught you that look — the look of an angel imprisoned by 
some evil magician in the body of a kobold ? God knows 
what will become of you I You will not let me come, 
then ? No ? Are you not afraid ? Nothing to be got 
out of you but a shake of the head I Well, go 1 I can- 
not force you. Good-night, then 1” He held out his 
hand ; she seized it, pressed it with passionate energy, 
and then ran across the fields as fast as her feet could 


46 


ONLY A GIRL; 


carry her. Johannes let her run for some minutes, and 
then followed her at a distance ; he could not allow the 
helpless child to go home without watching over her 
safety. She ran as if she had wings, without once looking 
round ; but Johannes noticed that she kissed the book 
several times, and pressed it to her heart, as if it had been 
some living thing. When at last he came in sight of 
Ernestine’s home, he stopped. “ Heaven be merciful to the 
man who will one day take her for a wife I” he thought, 
and slowly turned away. 

Ernestine entered the garden of her dreary home 
with a throbbing heart. A grumbling maid-servant 
opened the door for her. “ You are late,” she scolded. 

That is just like you — first you wouldn’t go, and then 
you don’t want to come home. You always want to do 
something else than what you should.’^ 

Ernestine made no reply. “Can I have something to 
eat ?” she asked briefly. 

“ To eat I Likely, indeed ! Am I to go to the stable 
at ten o’clock at night and milk a cow for you ? for there 
is nothing else that I can get. You know well enough 
that I have no keys I” 

“Is Frau Gedikc in bed, then ?” 

“ If you were noc so stupid, you might know that 

“ But I am hungry I” 

“That serves you right; you should have eaten 
enough at the party. Of course they gave you some- 
thing to eat ?” 

Ernestine was silent, and followed the maid into the 
room, where she hastily concealed her torn hat in the 
wardrobe. “ My feet are wet,” she said, shivering. “ Give 
me some dry stockings.” 

“ Of course you have been dragging through all the 
puddles, and then want dry stockings at this hour of the 
night 1 Get into bed as soon as you can ; you will have 
no other stockings to-night. Good-night — I am going to 
bed myself.” And the servant left the room, taking with 
her the dim tallow candle that she had in her hand, and 
Ernestine was left alone in the apartment, into which the 
moon shone brightly. Suppressed rage at the servant’s 
coarse harshness burrowed and gnawed in the child’s 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


4T 


heart like a hidden mole Everything that had lately 
happened vanished at this rude contact. Her soul had 
expanded at the first touch of a large, kindly nature, like 
a bud in the air of spring — the frost that now fell upon it 
was doubly painful. She was again the same forsaken, 
abused child whose vital energies were consumed by im- 
potent hate of her tormentors. Had she really lived the 
last hour ? Had any one really spoken so kindly to her 
— one, too, better and handsomer than all the others ? 

She caught up her book as if it were a talisman; it 
was real ; it had not vanished ; it was all true, then. And 
yet she had been so self-willed and cross to the kind, 
kind gentleman, and had not even told him how grateful 
she was ; how he must despise her I He could not do 
otherwise. She understood now how different she must 
be before she could hope to win the liking of such a man 
as Johannes. How should she do it? She could not 
tell ; but something stirred within her that exalted her 
above herself. She looked up to heaven in childlike en- 
treaty, and prayed, “ Dear God, make me good 1” Then 
she pressed the book to her heart ; it was her most pre- 
cious possession, her first friend ; and the desire took 
hold of her to see now what this friend would tell her. 
But she could not read by moonlight, and she dared not 
get a candle, for she slept next to Frau Gedike, who 
allowed no reading at night. She stood hesitating and 
looked sorrowfully at the beautiful binding, with its 
gay arabesques. Suddenly it occurred to her that there 
was always a night-lamp burning in her father’s room ; 
it was a happy thought. She drew off her wet boots 
with difficulty, and crept softly into Hartwich’s apart- 
ment. The invalid was lying upon his back, sound asleep. 
He breathed and snored so loudly that the child was 
almost terrified; but she was determined to proceed, 
and slipped past the bed. She seated herself cautiously, 
opened the book in a state of feverish expectation, and 
of course turned to the story that Johannes had men- 
tioned to her. The book contained the charming, touch- 
ing tales of Hans Andersen. Ernestine, greatly moved, 
read the story of the Ugly Duckling. She read how 
it was abused and maltreated by all because it was 


48 


ONLY A GIRL; 


SO different from the other ducks, and how at last it came 
to be a magnificent swan, far finer and more beautiful 
than the insignificant fowls who had despised it. The im- 
pression made upon her by this story is not to be described. 
The poor duckling’s woes were hers also, and as if upon 
swan’s pinions the promise of a fair future hovered above 
her from the page that she was reading. “ Shall I ever 
be such a swan?” she asked again and again. Her heart 
overflowed with new emotions of joy and pain, she covered 
her eyes with her thin hands and sobbed as if she would, 
as the saying is, “ cry her soul out.” Then her father 
awoke, and called out, “Who is there?” Ernestine 
hastened to him and fell on her knees at his bedside. 
She seized his hand and would have kissed it ; he 
snatched it angrily away, but the tears that she had 
shed had melted her very heart. “ Father, dear father !” 
she cried, “ I have been very naughty and self-willed. 
Forgive, and love me only a little, and I will love yon 
dearly 1” 

Hartwich turned his face to the wall, and growled, 
“Why did you wake me? Where’s the use of slipping 
in here at this hour ? Do you think I had rather listen 
to your stupid whining than sleep ?” 

“Father,” cried Ernestine, taking his lame hand that 
he could not withdraw from her. “ Father, do not send 
me away from you. I will be good, — help me to be so. 
I cannot be good if you are always harsh to me. 1 saw 
to-day how all the children have parents who love them. 
I only am disliked by every one, and yet 1 have a heart 
too, and would love to see kind looks and hear kind 
words. I will not cry ever any more, if you will not 
make me cry, and I will try my best to be just like a 
boy, that you may not be sorry any more that I am a 
girl. Ah, father, it seems to-day as if the dear God in 
heaven had told me wdiat I long for. Love, father, love, — 
ah, give me some, and take pity upon your poor ugly 
child 1” 

The invalid had turned towards the child again, and 
was staring at her in amazement, with lack-lustre eyes ; 
it seemed as if some unbidden feeling were struggling for 
utterance from the depths of his moral and physical 


OR A PHYSICIxiN FOR THE SOUL. 


49 


degradation; his breath came quick, he tried to speak. 
Ernestine did not venture to look at him ; a strong odour 
of brandy told her that her father’s face was near her 
own, but this odour was so utterly disgusting to her 
that she involuntarily recoiled, and thus avoided the lips 
that would perhaps have bestowed upon her the first kiss 
that she had ever in her life received from them. The 
invalid must have known this, for he turned away again, 
muttering something unintelligible. After a long pause, 
be felt for a tumbler that stood on a table beside his bed, 
but it was empty. “ I’m thirsty !” he said peevishly. 
“Shall I bring you some water, father?” asked Ernes- 
tine. The sick man made a gesture of disgust. “Nol 
but you can go up to your uncle and tell him to send me 
that medicine that he spoke of ; he will know what I 
want. But ask him only, — do you hear ? — him only. And 
tell no one that I sent you, or you shall suffer for it, I 
promise you. And now go quickly : I’m tortured with 
thirst I” 

Ernestine arose from her knees, and looked at her 
father with the grief that we feel when we have lavished 
our best, our most sacred emotions upon an unworthy 
object. Hitherto she had required nothing of him ; to- 
day, for the first time, as she looked around for some one 
to whose love, in her loneliness, she possessed a right, it 
had occurred to her that she had a father. She had 
turned to him with an overflowing heart, and had found 
a drunkard, who had resigned all claims to respect, both 
as a man and a father. Mute and crushed alike phys- 
ically and mentally, she slipped out and up the stairs 
to her uncle. She was to bring brandy to the sick man, 
although she remembered that the physician had for- 
bidden all heating drinks; but she must fulfil her father’s 
commands, or receive the cruellest treatment at his hands. 
She entered her uncle’s room, slowly and timidly; she 
was afraid of his wife. But Bertha had gone to bed; 
there was no one in the room but Leuthold, who was 
standing by the open window, to the frame of w^hich he 
had screwed a long tube. 

“Ah, little Ernestine, have you come so late to see 
your uncle ?” he said kindly. 


50 


ONLY A OIRL; 


“ Uncle, what is that asked Ernestine, forgetting 
her errand in her wonder at the strange instrument. 

“ That is a telescope,” her uncle informed her. 

“ What are you doing with it ?” she asked further. 

“ I am looking into the moon, my child.” 

“ Ah I can you do that ?” she cried, in the greatest 
amazement. 

“ Certainly I can. Would you like to look through 
it?” 

“ Ah, yes ; if I only might I” whispered Ernestine, 
enchanted at the offer. 

Leuthold lifted her upon the window-sill and adjusted 
the telescope for her. She was half frightened when she 
suddenly found the shining sphere, which she had always 
seen hovering so far above her in the sky, brought so 
near to her eyes. Her breast expanded to receive such 
an inconceivable miracle. She gazed and gazed, looking, 
breathless with the desire of knowledge, at the mount- 
ains, valleys, and jagged craters that were so magically 
revealed. The warm night air fanned her burning brow. 
Everything around her faded and was forgotten as the 
tired heart of the child throbbed with fervent longing for 
the peace of that new, distant world. 


CHAPTER HI. 

ATONEMENT. 

The day began slowly to dawn, for a dim, cloudy sky 
usurped the throne of departing night. Drops of rain 
fell here and there, — it was a cheerless morning. Not a 
cock crowed — not a bird was stirring. The dog remained 
hidden in his kennel. 

Now and then an early labourer, with his spade upon 
his shoulder, would pass along the fence encircling Hart- 
wich’s estate, and would look over it with surprise at the 
strange bustle prevailing in house and court-yard. Doors 
were opened and shut ; servant-maids, with eyes heavy 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


51 


with sleep, were running hither and thither ; water was 
brought from the well; no questions or answers were 
exchanged. It was as if every one avoided speaking of 
what had occurred. A groom brought a saddled horse 
from the stable, mounted, and galloped furiously in the 
direction of the estate of the Staatsrathin. “ Is there a 
fire anywhere a couple of peasants shouted after him, 
but he made no reply. Without a word, he galloped 
across field and moor, never drawing rein until he reached 
the garden of the Staatsrathin. He tugged violently at 
the bell until a sleepy servant came to the door and asked 
him angrily what be wanted. 

“ Wake up the Geheimrath Heim, he is here on a visit. 
The village doctor sent me, — a human life is at stake !” 

The servant opened his eyes wide, and stared in- 
quiringly at the.groom. 

“ Yes, yes ; quick, be quick ! Hartwich has beaten his 
child so, we think she is dying. The barber says perhaps 
the Geheimrath can save her.” 

“ Good gracious, that is terrible 1” cried the horrified 
servant, and ran to call the old gentleman. 

The Geheimrath was up in a moment; without losing 
time by a single word, he dressed himself, mounted the 
groom’s horse, and rushed off to the scene of the dis- 
aster. 

Before the door of the house, aw^aiting his arrival, 
stood the village barber-surgeon, who received him with 
the deepest reverence. “ Herr Geheimrath, I pray you 
to excuse me, — but, as I knew you were in the neigh- 
bourhood, I conceived it my duty to entreat your assist- 
ance before sending for the physician, who lives three 
leagues off. The case seems to me a serious one.” 

“ Never excuse yourself,” said Heim, taking off his hat 
and coat in the hall ; “ it is my duty to aid wherever I 
can. But, in Heaven’s name, how did it happen? Where 
is the child injured ?” 

“ She has a wound in her head, and I fear the skull is 
fractured,” replied the barber, opening the door of the 
room leading to Hartwich’s apartment. The Gebcim- 
rath beard a loud sobbing as soon as the door was opened. 
He entered, and before him lay the invalid, w^eeping and 


52 


ONLY A GIRL; 


wailing like a maniac, with the child stretched out stiff 
and corpse-like upon the bed ; her eyes were closed and 
deep-sunk in their large sockets; her pale lips were 
slightly parted, — it was a sorry sight. Hartwich sup- 
ported her bandaged head upon his arm, and, weeping 
loudly, pressed kiss after kiss upon her white brow. 

“Ah, Herr Geheimrath !” he shrieked, “come here I 
I am a wicked, miserable father. I have killed my child 1 
I am a man given over to the worst of all vices, — drunk- 
enness ; it is my only excuse. Accuse me ; have me 
sent, crippled as 1 am, to jail, — I care not ; but bring my 
child to life, or the sting of conscience will drive me 
mad I” 

The Geheimrath took the passive hand of the child 
and felt the pulse. “ It is greatly to be regretted that 
your conscience was not as active before the deed as it 
appears to be now that it is committed,” he said coldly 
and sternly, as he removed the bandage from the child’s 
head. 

“ Oh, oh,” wailed Hartwich, shutting his eyes, “ do not 
do that here I I cannot see the blood ; I cannot see the 
wound ; it will kill me !” 

“ What ! you could make the wound and cannot look 
at it I” said the Geheimrath inexorably, beginning to 
probe the wound. “ It is a most serious case,” he said 
“ Has the child moved at all ?” 

“ Yes, yes ; oh, heavens, yes ; until she grew so rigid !” 
gasped Hartwich, seizing Ernestine’s hand to kiss it. 
Then he looked up at the physician in mortal terror. 
“How is it? must she — oh, Christ! must she die?” And 
again he broke out into the loud childish weeping peculiar 
to persons unnerved by sickness or drink. 

“ Control yourself,” ordered the Geheimrath. “ I can- 
not come to any decision yet. The injury to the skull is 
not fatal; what the effect of the concussion will be, I can- 
not tell. But, with the child’s delicate constitution ” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Ah, you give me no hope,” moaned Hartwich. 
“ Ernestine, wake up 1 only look once at your father, 
your cruel, wicked father I Ah, Herr Geheimrath, I 
disliked the child because she was so weak and ugly. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


53 


If she had only been a fine, healthy girl, I might perhaps 
have been reconciled to having no son ; but I was ashamed 
■of her, and silenced the voice of my heart. Oh, these 
hands, poor little hands, and these pale, thin cheeks I 
— how could I ever strike them I God be merciful to me, 
miserable sinner that I am I” And he beat his breast 
fiercely. 

The Geheimrath looked at him and shook his head. 
“ Do not excite yourself so. It does your daughter no 
good, and only injures yourself.’^ 

“My daughter 1 my daughter!” repeated Hartwich. 
“ Oh, I have never treated her as such. She seemed to 
me a changeling, left in her cradle by some spiteful witch 
in place of the boy I so coveted. Now, when I am in 
danger of losing her, I feel that she is my child 
indeed.” 

“ The truth is as old as the world, that nature avenges 
the transgression of the least of her laws,” replied the 
physician. “You have sinned grievously against the 
mighty law of paternal affection, and now it demands its 
rights with resistless authority. Let me entreat you to 
testify your repentance by the tenderest care of the sick 
child, and permit me to call some one to put her to bed, 
— it should have been done long ago.” 

“ Ah, must she be separated from me ?” moaned Hart- 
wich. “ I long to beg her forgiveness when she comes 
to herself.” 

“You will hardly be able to do that very soon,” said 
the Geheimrath, ringing the bell. 

Frau Gedike made her appearance, as gentle and sub- 
missive as she had previously been harsh and overbear- 
ing to Ernestine. 

“Assist me in carrying this child to her bed,” said 
Heim, carefully placing his arm beneath the rigid little 
body to raise it up. 

“ Oh, I beg of you, Herr Geheimrath, do not trouble 
yourself,” cried Frau Gedike, evidently greatly hum- 
bled. “ I can carry the poor child without help.” 

Heim glanced at her keenly, and then quietly directed 
her to show him the way. 

5 * 


54 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Frau Geiiike ran as quickly as she could across the 
hall to the door of a back room. “ Permit me,” she said, 
and tried to slip past the Geheimrath into the apart- 
ment. “ Excuse me for one moment, that I may put 
things a little to rights. Everything is in disorder, I rose 
so early this morning.” 

But Heim said authoritatively, “ Follow me I” and 
stepped past her into the chamber, carrying his silent 
burden. Here he stood still in astonishment. It was a 
kind of wash-room, — at least there was a huge pile of soiled 
linen in one corner. Broken furniture and household 
utensils were scattered about ; there were no curtains to 
the windows ; hundreds of flies were buzzing about the 
dirty panes ; the air of the close room was stifling. In 
one corner stood a child’s crib, which must have dated 
from Ernestine’s fifth or sixth year. It contained an old 
straw bed, a dirty pillow, and a heavy, tawdry coverlet. 
Frau Gedike bustled about, endeavouring to conceal as 
well as she could the miserable condition of the room 
from the penetrating eye of the Geheimrath, but in 
vain. 

“Am I to lay the wounded child in this bed ? Is she 
to be nursed in this hole ?” he asked in a tone which 
boded no good to the housekeeper. 

“ Gracious me 1 — we have no other room and no other 
bed. I have often pitied the dear child, but Herr Hart- 
wich is so saving — he never buys anything new,” she 
declared. 

The Geheimrath went towards a half-open door lead- 
ing into another and larger apartment. Here the air was 
pure, the furniture decent, and there was a comfortable 
bed in the corner. 

“ Is this your room ?” asked the Geheimrath 
sharply. 

“ It is, Herr Geheimrath. It is just as my prede- 
cessor left it.” 

“ Make up the bed instantly with clean linen.” 

Frau Gedike stared in surprise. 

“ Instantly !” repeated the Geheimrath, in a way that 
admitted of no remonstrance, and seated himself, that he 
might more conveniently hold his poor little charge. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


55 


Frau Gedike brought clean sheets and made up the 
bed. 

“ Where shall I sleep ?” she asked with suppressed 
rage : “ there is no other sleeping-room in the whole 
house I” 

You can try Ernestine’s bed, and see what it is to 
lie cramped up upon a rackl” replied the old gentle- 
man dryly. Then he wrinkled his bushy brows sternly, 
and continued : “ I doubt whether you will need a bed 
here, for I will do my best to have you leave this house 
before night.” 

“ Oh, Lord, have mercy on me I Herr Geheimrath, 
what have I done ? What fault can you find with me ?” 
whined Frau Gedike as she smoothed the pillows. 

Heim arose, and, as he laid the lifeless little body care- 
fully upon the bed, said quietly, “ Look at the room 
which you have allowed this frail child to occupy, the 
bed in which you have cramped her poor little limbs, 
and then say whether anybody of the least humanity 
could fail to condemn youl” He then left her, and 
called the barber-surgeon that he might take the neces- 
sary steps for providing careful attendance for the 
child. 

Frau Gedike ran out crying, and the Geheimrath con- 
tinued to provide for his patient’s comfort with the quiet 
decision of an experienced physician and the gentleness 
of a tender-hearted man. 

After half an hour, Ernestine began to show signs of 
life ; but she did not return to consciousness. She cast a 
vague, wandering glance around, then closed her eyes 
and muttered broken, unintelligible words. At last she 
sank anew into a state of stupor resembling slumber. 
The Geheimrath left the surgeon with her and went to 
Hartwich, who, in the mean while, had been visited by 
Leuthold. Leuthold had been wakened at last by the 
unwonted bustle in the house, and had stolen from his 
bed to see if his brother were perhaps dying, — a piece of 
news which would have been a grateful morning greet- 
ing to his wife. He was disappointed. The only comfort 
was that all this excitement would inevitably accelerate 
Hartwich’s death ; Ernestine’s fate was a matter of per- 


56 


ONLY A GIRL; 


feet indifference to him, but he was greatly disturbed by 
the intelligence that Heim had been called in. He could 
not bear the man, whose presence brought out clear and 
distinct, as with some chemical preparation, the stains 
upon his name that had apparently faded away. He there- 
fore determined to leave home for a few days, in order to 
avoid a meeting with the witness of his disgrace; but he 
would leave his wife on guard in the lower story, under 
the pretence of helping to nurse Ernestine. Her pres- 
ence would naturally hinder the physician from saying 
anything to Hartwich to his, Leuthold’s, detriment. He 
slipped up-stairs to bid his wife arise quickly ; but the in- 
dolent woman was too long about it for his wishes or 
his plans. 

Scarcely had he left Hartwich when Heim entered the 
room. “ What news do you bring me Hartwich cried 
out. 

“Nothing hopeful as yet. She showed signs of life 
when we applied ice-bandages; but the lethargy into 
which she fell immediately is alarming. I cannot give 
you any hope before the end of three days.’^ 

Hartwich struck his damp forehead in despair. “ It 
will kill me 1 it will kill me I” 

The Geheimrath seated himself by his bedside, took 
a pinch of snuff from a golden box adorned with a 
miniature of the king, and calmly regarded the unhappy 
man. “Now tell me, Herr von Hartwich, how it all oc- 
curred. I should like to know. Besides the wound on 
the head, the child has bruises on her shoulders and arms 
that are by no means fresh. She seems to have been 
most cruelly treated !” 

The invalid was silent for awhile, and then said, “ Yes, 
— ah, yes, we have all abused her; but God knows I 
never intended this last I I was sound asleep yester- 
day evening when Ernestine came home and crept in to 
me here and waked me with her sobs ” 

“ Poor child 1 she had cause to weep,” the Geheimrath 
interrupted him. 

“ Yes, yes, — but I did not understand that yesterday. 
When I awoke, I was thirsty, and sent her up to my 
brother to bring me a little — a little — a few drops ” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR TEE SOUL. 


5 ? 


“ To bring you liquor,” the Geheimrath completed the 
sentence. 

“ Yes, I confess it,” Hartwich continued ; “ but in her 
uncle’s room there was a telescope, and she looked through 
it and forgot her father’s errand. I waited and waited, 
with my throat on fire, but she did not come. I grew 
more and more impatient ; and when, at the end of a full 
half-hour, she came down without what I had sent her 
for, I seized hold of her to beat her ; she clung to my 
lame arm so that the pain made me wild, — and in my 
senseless rage I flung her off and hurled her away with 
my healthy arm ; — may it be crippled forever ! She fell 
backward, and struck the back of her head first against 
the marble top of my wash-stand, — you can see the blood 
there still, — and then upon the floor, where she lay like 
one dead. Everything grew black before my eyes, as it 
did when I had the stroke. I rang for my people ; no 
one came. I could not move, — could not leave my bed to 
go to the child. I saw her blood flow, I heard her gasp 
as if in the death-agony, and I lay here a miserable crip- 
ple, thinking that I had killed my child. Oh, Herr Ge- 
heimrath, at such a time our inmost selves are revealed 
to us ; in such agony one learns to pray. At last, after 
repeated ringing and calling, my good-for-nothing servants 
made their appearance. Herr Geheimrath, I cannot tell 
you how I felt when they laid the child upon my bed, — 
my poor, beaten child. As the little bleeding head lay 
on my arm, it seemed as if my heart opened wide with 
the gaping wound, and, for the first time, real, warm, pa- 
ternal affection gushed from it. Before, when I chastised 
the child, she was all defiance and stubbornness ; then I 
did not care if I hurt her ; but now, as she lay mute and 
crushed before me, she spoke to me in a language that 
recalled me to myself. And, Herr Geheimrath, I have 
not been myself, — I have drunk myself down to the level 
of a brute ; and the poor victim of my fury has recalled 
me from my degradation.” 

The Geheimrath listened to the speaker with growing 
sympathy. When he had finished, he took his hand. “ You 
are right, Herr von Hartwich, to be frank with me. Men 
who are not evil by nature can best excuse their evil deeds 


58 


ONLY A GIRL; 


by frankness, for their intentions are seldom as bad as 
their actions. Compose yourself, — your condition is indeed 
worthy of compassion. If the physician might be allowed 
to usurp in a measure the confessor’s chair at such a time 
as the present, I would say for your consolation, in the 
event of the worst termination to the child’s illness, that 
your irresponsible condition, which rendered you incapa- 
ble of appreciating the consequences of your act, and 
which would excuse you before an earthly tribunal, should 
have some weight with your inward judge. Besides, you 
have certainly acted paternally towards the child in one 
respect,” he added with significance., “You have accu- 
mulated a fine property for her. That will enable her to 
occupy such a position in the world as will make her life, 
if it is spared, a happy one.” 

Hartwich seized Heim’s hand and whispered quickly 
and anxiously, “ Ah, my dear sir, I have not done this ; 
it now lies heavy on my soul that I have not been a 
father to the child in any way !” 

“ What do you mean ?” cried Heim with apparent sur- 
prise. “ You have not set Ernestine aside in favour of 
another ?” 

Hartwich looked anxiously towards the door. The Ge- 
heimrath understood his look, and opened it, — no listener 
was near. Hartwich then confessed all to the Geheimrath 
that the latter already knew. Heim shook his head. “ It 
is incredible that a father should do so by his own child ; 
but, now that your sense of duty is aroused, you will of 
course atone for your injustice?” 

“Ah, Herr Geheimrath, if I only could, how gladly 
would I do so I If my poor Ernestine recovers, I would 
gladly make over to her the whole estate during my life- 
time. Tell me, how shall I begin to make amends ? how 
shall I begin to atone to the child for all the misery I 
have caused her? I will do anything, everything, if I 
only can. Assist me, advise me !” 

“ I think,” began the Geheimrath with quiet decision, 
“ that the case is very simple. You can make a new will 
and declare the other void. If Ernestine recovers, it is very 
doubtful whether she will be anything more than a poor, 
sickly invalid during her entire lifetime. Such an unfor- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


59 


tunate being needs money, — a great deal of money ; for 
sickness is an expensive affair. The child was naturally 
healthy. She has been weakened by neglect and harsh 
treatment. You left her to a worthless housekeeper, who 
denied her everything that a child should have in order 
to be strong, and in her weakened condition you have dealt 
her a death-blow from which she can hardly recover. You 
must be conscious that, since you have almost destroyed 
Ernestine's life, you ought at least to provide her with 
the means of making her invalid existence as endurable 
as possible, and indemnify her for a neglected childhood 
by every enjoyment that wealth can procure.” 

Again Hartwich broke out into loud lamentations. 
“Yes, yes, you are right, — ^you are a man of honour, Herr 
Geheimrath. But how can I set aside my will without 
encountering Leuthold’s bitterest hate ? Ah, you do not 
know what a dangerous enemy he is.” 

“ I know, I know,” Heim interrupted him, nodding his 
head; “he is a bad fellow; but tell me, Herr von Hart- 
wich, what do you fear from him ? Will not the curse 
of your unfortunate child, if she lives, be harder to bear 
than the hate of such a miserable wretch as your step- 
brother ?” 

Hartwich writhed and turned in his bed. “ If I had 
only sold the factory ! If he should learn that I had dis- 
inherited him, he is quite capable of preventing the sale 
out of sheer revenge, ruining the whole business for 
me, and then the poor child would be deprived of half 
Df her property !” 

The Geheimrath held his snuff-box in one hand, clasped 
the other over it, and looked at Hartwich with a smile. 

“ If that is why you hesitate, there is no cause for fear. 
The factory is as good as sold ; for Herr Neuenstein, the 
brother of the Staatsriithin Mollner, is most anxious to 
purchase it for his son, who is a chemist; — he knows 
your brother, and would easily see through his wiles. 
Besides, Gleissert need know nothing about it for the 
present. Make the will secretly. I will give you pen and 
ink when I have written a prescription for Ernestine. 
Send your housekeeper off immediately, that we may 
have no spies about; for I believe her to be capable of 


60 


ONLY A GIRL; 


any treachery, and Ernestine must not be left in her 
charge. This afternoon I shall come again, and you can 
put the document into my hands, where it will be safe. 
Well — how does the plan please you V' 

“Yes, yes,” cried Hartwich passionately. “That is 
right. That I can do. Ah, it is all that is left for me 
to do for my child, and it shall be done. Send Gedike 
away, — get me pen, ink, and paper, — it must not be de- 
layed an hour longer than is necessary. I feel I may die 
at any moment. Remove this burden from my soul, and 
I shall die more peacefully !” 

Heim went instantly to procure writing-materials, for 
he knew better than the invalid himself that there must 
be no delay in the matter. The servants brought him 
what he wanted, and he looked in upon Ernestine for a 
moment, while the surgeon went for more ice for the 
bandages. She was lying there moaning and groan- 
ing restlessly. He looked at her lovingly, and said to 
himself, “ Poor child I There are better days in store for 
you.” Then he repaired to Frau Gedike, whom he in- 
formed of her dismissal, and appointed Rieka, the elder 
of the maid-servants, — a girl whose face pleased him, — 
Ernestine’s attendant. 

When he returned to Hartwich, he found him in a 
state of great excitement. His face was purple, the veins 
greatly swollen. 

“ Where have you been so long?” he cried out as the 
Geheimrath entered. “ I was in agony for fear I should 
have another stroke. I felt just as I did before 1 There, 
give me the writing-materials — it would be terrible if I 
were to die now, before I had atoned for my crime. Pray 
help me up, Herr Geheimrath, — but do not touch my 
lame arm, — oh, this pain 1 There, there, — thank you. 
Now the pen. I have thought it all over while you were 
away. I will arrange it so that he cannot say I broke 
my word to him, and he cannot harm Ernestine if I should 
die shortly. Ah, air I — Herr Geheimrath, — open a win- 
dow 1 After I have written — I shall be easier. Then 
my mind will be relieved.” 

He spoke in breathless haste, while the perspiration 
stood in beads upon his forehead. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR TEE SOUL. 


61 


“ Be calm, be calm said the Geheimrath soothingly. 

You are not going to die now, but you will make your- 
self ill with this excitement.” 

“Ah, you are kind, — you wish to console me ; — but I 
feel that last night will be my death — there is no time to 
lose I” 

He dipped the pen in the ink, and looked towards the 
door. “ If only Leuthold does not come, — all is lost if he 
does. Bolt it, I pray, that he may not surprise us. Tell 
me, will it not be best to make him Ernestine’s heir? 
Then I shall not be quite false to my promise, — it is, alas, 
alas, more likely that the poor little lamb will die than 
that she will recover ; then all will be as it was, and the 
property will be his, — and, if she lives, he must have a 
good legacy.” 

“Yes, yes,” said the Geheimrath good-humouredly, 
“give the fellow what you think you owe him. But re- 
member that he inherits from Ernestine only in case of 
her dying unmarried ; for if it be God’s will that she lives, 
marries, and has children, you must not deprive those 
children of the property. That might make her very 
unhappy.” 

“ Yes, you are right, — I will insert that clause. But 
the guardianship, — what do you think ? I must make 
Leuthold her guardian, or he will be terribly angry I” 

The Geheimrath shook his head. “ I would not do 
that I” 

“ Oh, yes, Herr Geheimrath. It would look too ugly, 
and the child will be in no kind of danger. He always 
liked Ernestine, and stood up for her ; and he will be 
afraid, too, not to fill his post of guardian conscientiously, 
for he will be under the supervision of the orphans’ court.” 

“ Then make her minority as short as possible. For 
my satisfaction, have it expressly stated that she shall be 
of age at eighteen. Such precaution is necessary with 
men of Gleissert’s stamp. According to our laws, a father 
can declare his child of age at eighteen. Her property 
can remain in the orphans’ court until then, when it can 
be placed at her own disposal.” 

“ Yes, yes, I agree to all that, — then it is all settled I 
God ])e thanked !” Hartwich drew a long sigh of relief, and 

6 


62 


ONLY A GIRL; 


dipped the pea in the ink. But scarcely had he attempted 
the first stroke when he dropped the pen in despair and 
cried out, “ Merciful Heaven ! I cannot form a letter 

The startled Geheimrath looked at the paper. The 
letters were entirely illegible. 

For one moment the old gentleman lost all hope, — 
while Hartwich sobbed and groaned like a child. Was 
he to fail thus, just when the goal was reached ? The 
Geheimrath regarded the invalid thoughtfully, ponder- 
ing how long a delay his condition would permit. Then 
he made up his mind, and said with composure, “ I will 
arrange it all ; do not be at all anxious. I will drive to 
the nearest town and procure the services of a couple of 
lawyers, and you shall dictate your will. I will be back 
again in two hours. Tell me when Leuthold is used to 
be away from home, that he may know nothing of our 
plans.” 

“ At the time of your return he will be at the factory. 
If you go on foot as far as the corner of the wood, he will 
not see you. Herr Geheimrath, you are a true man, — 
my child’s benefactor and mine. How shall I ever thank 
you ?” 

“ There is no need of thanks, — no need at all I I am 
only doing my duty as a man and a Christian.” And 
the prudent old physician concealed the writing-materials 
and hurried out. 

Hartwich cast his blood shot eyes upward and prayed, 
“ Let me live until it is complete, O God, — only until 
then !” These words he repeated again and again, while 
his heart beat more wildly and irregularly, and his veins 
grew blue and swollen. It was the mortal agony of a 
doomed wretch who feels that a short time will bring him 
to the bar of an inexorable judge, and who longs to 
throw off at least a part of his burden of guilt. Of course 
such anguish would hasten his death. 

Frau Bertha came down soon after the Geheimrath’s 
departure, and would have stayed in Hartwich’s room, 
but his state terrified her. She saw that the end was near, 
and she had not the courage to look on at the death- 
agony. In her heart she felt herself a murderess, because 
she had so ardently desired his death. Indeed, fate often 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


63 


makes us by our silent desires accomplices in its severity, 
and we are stricken with vain remorse when our secret 
hostility to another suddenly takes form and shape in 
events. Who has not at some time in his life secretly 
nourished a selfish desire, and, after it has been crushed 
down, fervently thanked Heaven for not cursing him with 
a granted prayer ? Or, if the evil has been permitted, 
who has not in his remorse half believed that his secret 
desire helped to work the mischief that has been done ? 
Frau Bertha’s perceptions were not very delicate. She 
wished for Hartwich’s death that she might enjoy his 
wealth, and thanked Heaven that it would shortly be 
hers ; but she was too much of a woman not to shudder 
at the moment of the fulfilment of her evil desires and 
see an avenging demon in Hartwich’s dying form. She 
resolved, therefore, to disobey her lord and master, and 
avoid the death-bed. The cogent reasons that Leuthold 
had for enjoining constant watchfulness she could not 
comprehend ; and therefore, as soon as Leuthold left for 
the factory, she betook herself to her apartments again. 

Hartwich was now left upon his burning couch, de- 
voured by anxiety. The minutes crept slowly on; every 
quarter of an hour, news of Ernestine was brought him ; 
there was no change for an hour, and then Rieka came 
in suddenly and cried, “ Ah, sir, Ernestine is awake and 
wants some book; we cannot understand what one, or 
what she means, she speaks so indistinctly, and what- 
ever we get her is wrong. What is to be done ?” 

“ Send a servant into town to buy every child’s-book 
that is to be had, — let her want for nothing, — do you 
hear ? for nothing! Has she not mentioned me ?” 

“ Oh, no,” replied the servant; “ she is not herself, — she 
is continually moaning for her book I” 

“ Then get her what she wants, as quickly as possible, — 
only be quick !” 

The servant left the room, and the sick man was left 
to his brooding thoughts again. It worried and tor- 
mented him that Ernestine would have to wait several 
hours for what she wanted. In a few moments he rang 
again for the maid, who reiterated that the child was still 
asking for her book. The invalid grew. still more restless, 


64 


ONLY A GIRL; 


and at last sent for the surgeon, who was still with 
Ernestine. 

“Lederer,”he called out upon his entrance, “bleed 
me ! Don’t you remember how much good it did me ?” 

“ Not for worlds, sir 1” said Lederer. “ I could not do 
it without a physician’s orders. There seems no reason 
at all at present for such an extreme remedy 1” 

“What do. you know about it?” cried Hartwich 
angrily. “ I tell you I know I need it. There is a per- 
fect hammering going on inside my head. You must 
bleed me, or I shall have another stroke !” 

“ Ah, sir, believe me, you are needlessly alarmed,” said 
the barber. “ Have some compassion upon a poor man 
like myself, who cannot take upon himself such a respon- 
sibility with a patient of your importance. I would gladly 
do it if I could ! Have patience, I pray you, until the 
Geheimrath comes back I” 

“You area miserable coward 1” screamed Hartwich, 
foaming with rage. 

“ For Heaven’s sake compose yourself, sir,” the terri- 
fied surgeon interrupted him ; “ I will obey you, but I 
must first go home and fetch my bandages. Perhaps by 
the time I get back the Geheimrath will be here 1” 

“ Then go,” muttered Hartwich, who already repented 
his violence, which he feared might prove an injury to 
him. “But first lift me up a little. Ah I if I could only 
put my feet out of bed I should certainly feel easier. 
Try if you cannot lift them out ; take out the lame leg 
first — so — that’s right — oh, it’s hard. ’Tis better to have 
wooden legs — they can be unstrapped and taken off — but 
to have to drag about everywhere a dead, useless limb is 
horrible I ’tis a dog’s life, and I care not how soon it is 
over, but not just yet — I must do my duty first. Now go, 
Lederer, and come back soon.” 

The barber had helped him so that he was sitting up- 
right in bed, with his lame foot upon a cushion. He 
looked around the room, and noticed Ernestine’s book 
upon the table. “ What is that ?” he asked. Lederer 
handed it to him. He turned over the leaves, and his 
face suddenly brightened. “ That must be the book that 
Ernestine is asking for — some one must have given it to 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


65 


her yesterday at the party. Good heavens I now I un- 
derstand why the poor little thing crept in here so late 
last night ; she wanted to read by my lamp ! Ah, how 
dearly she paid for her innocent pleasure I Go, my good 
Lederer, and take the book to the child. Tell Rieka to 
come and let me know what she says to it, and then you 
will get the bandages — will you not 

“ Most certainly, sir, as soon as possible I” said Le- 
derer, and hurried away with th^s book. 

A clock struck nine. Hartwich sighed profoundly. 

Only nine. Heim cannbt come for an hour yet. The 
lawyers will need time for preparation. O God — Thou 
wilt not punish that poor, innocent child so severely as to 
let me die before her rights are secured — Thou wilt not 1’^ 
He tried in vain to fold his hands, and at last dropped 
them wearily upon his crippled knees. 

Suddenly he imagined that his right hand also was 
stiffening. His incapacity to write could not have 
resulted merely from want of habit. He moved his 
arm up and down to try it — whether in imagination or 
reality, it certainly felt heavier. It was not the effect of 
gout, as was the case with his left hand ; this could only 
proceed from an effusion of blood upon the brain. Cold 
drops of moisture stood upon his forehead ; he tried to 
wipe them away with his right hand ; in vain, he could 
not lift it so high. Thus he sat helpless and alone, every 
limb crippled. He thought of his child’s thin, white 
hands ; how blest he should be if they could now supply 
the place of his own to him, wipe his damp brow and 
hand him refreshing drink I He thought how for- 
saken and alone he sat there awaiting death, and that it 
was all his own fault ; and again he sobbed convulsively. 
Then Rieka entered. 

“ Well, was that the right one asked Hartwich. 

“ Oh, yes, sir.” 

“ Thank Heaven 1 Did she not mention me ?” 

“No, sir: she said nothing. She only took the book 
and kissed it, then folded it in her arms and went to sleep 
again.” 

“If the child does not forgive me before I die, I shall 
have no rest in my grave I” moaned Hartwich. “ Rieka, 

6 * 


66 


ONLY A GIRL; 


I am losing the use of my right arm too. Look at me. 
Am I not altered 

“ Oh, no, you always look just as purple 1’’ said Rieka 
consolingly. 

“ Give me a mirror and let me see myself I” 

Rieka handed him a mirror, and he looked at himself 
long and anxiously. “ I look fearfully. Can you not 
hear how indistinct my speech is ?” 

Rieka put aw'ay the mirror. Oh, your tongue is al- 
ways heavy when you have been drinking. Don’t be 
worried about that.” 

“1 have not drank a drop to-day, you insolent girl!” 
stammered Hartwich irritated. “ Go back instantly, and 
take good care of the child, or ” 

“ Yes, sir, I shall do my duty without threats, but I 
can’t mend the mischief that you have done I” And she 
slammed the door behind her. 

“And I must bear this from an ignorant peasant 1” 
wailed Hartwich. “ How they will abuse me to my 
child, if she recovers I Oh, oh, I deserve it all ; ’tis 
wretched, — wretched I But I must be calm. I must not 
be excited.” Thus he murmured, with trembling lips, 
exerting all his energy to repress his excitement, and to 
force the breath regularly from his laboring breast. 

Again the clock struck — ten this time. 

“ They must soon be here now I” thought Hartwich. 
“ If I can only keep my head clear I” 

The wretched man in his anguish now exercised his men- 
tal faculties in every way that he could devise, repeating 
the formula which he had composed for his will a hundred 
times, that it might be so stamped upon his mind as to be 
forthcoming even in his last moments. 

At last steps were heard in the hall. 

“ It is Lederer with the bandages,” he thought, sud- 
denly remembering his desire to be bled. But there were 
several people there. It must be the lawyers. The door 
opened. “ Ah, thank God I thank God I” Hartwich 
stammered, and fainted. 

“ I thought so I” cried the Geheimrath. “ If you had 
only bled him, or at least remained with himl” he contin- 
ued to the terrified barber, who entered at the same time. 


OR A rilYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


67 


“ Be quick now ; give me that case ; bring me some ice 
from the child’s room,” he ordered ; and, while he spoke 
the lancet had done its work, and the dark blood wa^ 
flowing from the arm. 

Pray be ready, gentlemen,” he said as he was band- 
aging the arm ; “ I believe the sick man will come to him- 
self in a few moments. You will find writing-materials 
there in the corner.” 

The gentlemen took their seats, and arranged a table 
for writing from the sick man’s dictation. The surgeon 
brought the ice ; it was laid upon Hartwich’s head, and, 
as the Geheimrath had prophesied, he soon came to him- 
self. He looked around him with astonishment. “Am I 
still living ?” he feebly asked. 

“ Certainly, certainly,” said the Geheimrath, cheer- 
fully ; “ it was only a slight attack.’^ 

“ God of mercy,” gasped Hartwich, “Thou art all com- 
passion 1 My memory is still perfect. Are the lawyers 
here ?” 

One of them arose, and approached the bed. 

“ We are here, Herr von Hartwich, and await your 
directions.” 

“ I am still of sound mind, — indeed I am,” Hartwich 
insisted with childlike eagerness. 

“ The intention with which you have summoned us 
would certainly not indicate the contrary,” said the law- 
yer gravely, signing to his companion to prepare to 
write. 

“ And I declare that this last decision of mine is en- 
tirely my own,” Hartwich continued. 

“ I am convinced that it is so. I should far rather 
suppose that your previous will was a forced one,” the 
official rejoined. 

“ Will it impair the authenticity of this document that 
I am unable to sign it ? I cannot, unfortunately, move 
my hand.” 

“ Not at all,” said the lawyer. “ These two gentlemen, 
Herr Geheimrath Heim and the surgeon Lederer, will 
have the kindness to affix their signatures as witnesses, 
and the instrument will be legally correct. If you are 
strong enough to dictate your will, there is nothing now 
to prevent your doing so.” 


68 


ONLY A OIRL; 


“ Oh, yes! oh, yes I” gasped Hartwich, as the Geheim- 
rath supported him ; “ every moment is precious.’’ 

The preliminary sentences were written at Hartwich’s 
request. The Geheimrath closed the door, and the 
dying man began to dictate in such feverish haste that 
the lawyer was obliged to entreat him to speak more 
slowly. Some irregularities in the formula were arranged, 
and the will was completed before the glimmering spark 
of life in the testator was extinguished. Little Ernestine 
was made heir to a property of ninety thousand thalers. 
The document was read aloud to Hartwich, and the Ge- 
heimratb and Lederer affixed their signatures instead of 
his own. 

“ Now I can die I” said the sick man, with the air of a 
released captive ; and instantly his mental and physical 
powers failed him. 

“ Geheimrath !” he faltered, and a strange smile trans- 
figured his countenance, “ lay the will upon my child’s 
bed, as her — father’s — last — farewell — thanks — thanks.” 
And his eyelids closed, he muttered unintelligibly, and re- 
lapsed into unconsciousness. 

The Geheimrath nodded to the lawyers, and said, “ It 
was high time I” 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE SAD SURVIVORS. 

The next day, at about the same hour, Frau Bertha 
was in her kitchen, beating whites of eggs for a cake, her 
round cheeks shaking merrily with the exercise. She had 
sent her maid into the garden with Gretchen, and was 
supplying the maid’s place. She turned the bowl upside 
down, to convince herself that the eggs were sufficiently 
beaten ; not a drop fell, — they were all right, She set them 
aside with an air of great satisfaction, and turned to a bag 
beneath the table, whence issued a melancholy flapping 
and cooing. A w/iite dove poked its head out of the 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR TEE SOUL. 


69 


mouth of the bag, and Bertha thrust it back again, se- 
curing the opening more tightly. A pot of water on the 
fire boiled over with a loud hissing, and she hastened to 
roll up her sleeves over her large, well-formed arms, and 
lift the heavy vessel from the glowing coals. She was a 
beautiful sight, as the glare from the fire illuminated her 
massive proportions ; as she moved hither and thither, 
now arranging her various cooking-utensils, now open- 
ing the door beneath the oven, to thrust in huge pieces of 
wood, hastily picking up and tossing back the bits of burn- 
ing coal that fell out, she might have been Frau Yenus, the 
coarse Frau Yenus of the popular German imagination, 
fresh from the infernal regions in the Horselberg, who, 
clad in a kitchen apron, was here in the likeness of a 
cook-maid to seduce the calm, cold-blooded Dr. Gleissert 
by the magic charms of her cookery. She tossed a net 
full of crabs into a pot of cold water, and looked thought- 
lessly on at their slow death over the fire. She never 
dreamed that just at that moment a human life was 
leaving its mortal tenement beneath her roof, and when, 
a few minutes later, she was pounding ingredients in her 
huge mortar, that the noise she was making was the 
death-knell of a departing soul. She did not hear her 
husband’s approach until he stood before her, and seiz- 
ing her by the arm, said breathlessly, “ Wife, this is our 
last day of torment I” 

Frau Bertha looked at him with surprise, that was only 
half joy, painted upon her heated face. “ I have never 
seen you so delighted before, except when you were ex- 
amining those odd fishes at Trieste ; what has hap- 
pened?” 

“ Can you not guess ?” asked Leuthold. 

“ Is he dead ?” 

“ He is ; he has been dying for the last twenty-four 
hours.” 

“ Thank Heaven I” said Frau Bertha, folding her plump 
hands. 

“ And if I believed in Heaven I should say so too,” 
rejoined Leuthold, throwing himself upon a kitchen chair. 
“Only conceive of the joy! We are wealthy, — inde- 
pendent, — delivered from our ten years’ servitude, — de- 


70 


ONLY A QIRLi 


livered — ah 1” He fanned himself with the pocket-hand- 
kerchief that he had just used at the bedside of Hart- 
wich’s corpse to dry the tears that he did not shed. 

In spite of her good fortune, Frau Bertha looked un- 
comfortable. “ I am almost sorry he has gone,” she said 
timidly. “ It seems to me a sin to rejoice so at any one’s 
death, — he might appear to us.” 

“ Don’t talk such nonsense ; you know I cannot endure 
it,” said Leuthold angrily. “ You behave as if we had 
killed him. Wishes are neither poison nor steel ; and we 
are not rejoicing at his death, but at our inheritance. It 
is but human.” 

“Yes, yes,” said Bertha, comforted, “you are quite 
right. If we could have had the money while he lived,, 
we should not have wanted him to die ; he might havt^ 
lived for a hundred years for all I would have cared. It 
was his own fault that we wished him dead. Why did 
he keep us so pinched ?” 

Leuthold nodded approvingly. “ I see you are willing 
to listen to reason ; now have the kindness to come down- 
stairs with me and pay the proper respect to the body.” 

“ What must I do that for ?” asked Bertha, alarmed. 

“ Because it is becoming I I have instructed you suf- 
ficiently upon this point ; you know my wishes — come I” 

These words, that cut like a knife in their utterance, 
made opposition useless. Bertha took her casseroles from 
the fire, looked after the doves in the bag, and followed 
her husband down stairs. On the way she asked him, 
“ What shall I say when we get there ?” 

“ Not much,” said Leuthold dryly. “ There is not 
much to be said in such stiff, silent society, — a couple of 
oh’s and ah’s will suffice ; it is very graceful in a woman 
to fall upon her knees by the bedside ; but if you should 
attempt it, pray restrain your usual impetuosity, or the 
repose even of the dead might be disturbed.” 

“ You are a fearful man,” whispered Bertha. “ I am 
actually afraid of you. Will you make such joking 
speeches when I die ?” 

“ I shall not outlive you, my good Bertha,” said Leu- 
thold, plaintively. “ If I should, be assured I will mourq 
for you as the nurseling for his nurse 1” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


71 


Frau Bertha looked doubtfully at her husband. She 
scarcely knew what to make of this tender asseveration, 
and she said nothing. They had reached the door of 
Ilartwich’s apartment. 

“ Where is your handkerchief — your pocket-handker- 
chief?” Leuthold asked softly. Bertha sought it in vain; 
she had forgotten it. “ How thoughtless,” whispered 
Leuthold, “ to forget your handkerchief under such cir- 
cumstances 1” 

“ Then give me yours,” said Bertha. • 

“You fool I I want it for myself. Take your apron ; 
put that up to your eyes — so 1” With these words he 
opened the door and entered slowly, pushing Bertha be- 
fore him. Hartwich lay extended upon the bed, his face 
so changed that Bertha was glad to be able to hide her 
eyes in her apron. Leuthold stood beside her, a picture 
V)f dignified manly grief ; his bearing impressed the by- 
standers ; the surgeon, the men- and maid-servants, who 
were all present, were convinced that Herr Gleissert had 
really loved his step-brother, and that it was rank injus- 
tice to accuse him of heartlessness After a few moments, 
he laid his hand gently upon his wife’s shoulder, but its 
stern pressure reminded her that she was to fall upon her 
knees. She sank down as carefully as she could, and 
with her broad back and bending head was a beautiful 
and moving image of woe. After awhile he bent over 
her and said gently, “ Come, my child, do not be so 
agitated; our tears cannot bring him back to life — come I” 
Then he raised her, leaned her head upon his breast to 
conceal her face, and conducted her from the room. The 
others looked after them with amazement. 

“ I cannot understand it,” said the surgeon. “Every 
one knows that the woman never could endure Herr von 
Hartwich, and yet now she seems almost dead with 
grief 1” 

“ She isn’t really sorry,” growled a groom ; “ it’s all 
sham I” 

“ Yes, yes,” Rieka added, “ she didn’t shed a tear, — not 
a single tear, for all she rubbed her eyes so with her 
apron I” 

“ That’s true, — she is right,” murmured the group ; 


72 


ONLY A OIRL; 


“ neither he nor she shed a single tear. Well, there’s a 
pair of them. Do they suppose we are so stupid as not 
to see how glad they are that the master is dead ? ’Tis 
a pity that the money will not fall into better hands.” 

Then they separated, and went indifferently about their 
work. 

“ That was not so bad,” said Leuthold, when he had 
reached his own room with Bertha; “but still you cer- 
tainly have no genius for the stage.” 

“ You ought to be glad that I can never play a part 
before you,” she said, shaking herself as if to shake off 
the disagreeable impression of what she had seen like 
dust from her clothes. 

In the mean time the maid had brought the child in 
from the garden, and had laid the table. 

“ We will have some champagne to-day,” said Leu- 
thold, taking down the keys of the cellar. “ We need 
something to support us under such exciting circum- 
stances. Send Lena for some ice.” And he left the 
room. 

Frau Bertha sent the girl for ice, and said to herself 
with complacency, “ That ice-house was the best thing I 
ever planned.” 

The little girl, who was too fat and chubby to move 
very steadily, had crept under the table, and now, catch- 
ing hold of the corner of the table-cloth, tried to lift her- 
self by it, thereby pulling down a couple of plates and 
knives upon the floor. Bertha caught up the screaming 
child, gave it two or three hard slaps, saying, “ Now you 
know what you are crying for,” and then carried it to 
and fro to quiet it, well knowing that her strict husband 
would not endure any noise. Gretchen ceased crying 
just as her father entered with the champagne. Lena 
brought the ice, and the bottles w^'ere arranged in it. 
When the husband and wife were seated at table, Bertha 
had the fragments of the broken plates cleared away. 
“ Oh, heavens I” she muttered, “ nothing but bad signs. 
If our fortune should be destroyed like that china I” 

“ You unmitigated fool I” scolded her husband ; “ if 
everything that we desire were only as secure as our 
legally devised inheritance, Gretchen’s future husband 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 73 

would be now tumbling about in a royal nursery, and 
there would be a French cook in our kitchen.” 

“ Oh, then,” Bertha interrupted him with irritation, 

you are not satisfied with my cooking, — ^you want a 
Frenchman.” 

“ Only a Frenchman could supply your place,” replied 
her husband, quite ready to practise himself in the deli- 
cate flattery which he intended to make use of in future 
towards ladies in aristocratic circles. He kissed her 
hand and said, “ I would not have these rosy fingers any 
longer degraded by contact with the rude utensils of 
cookery. Let all that be left to the hard, rough hands 
of some skilful gastronome.” 

Frau Bertha stared at him in surprise. 

“ Wl} 3 % can gastronomes cook ?” 

Most certainly, — what else should they do ?” 

“ I thought they looked at the stars through glasses I” 

Leuthold clasped his hands in dismay, and cast a look 
towards heaven. “ Good heavens I when I think of your 
making such a speech among our future friends, I am so 
profoundly humiliated that I could almost determine to 
make over my property to some religious institution — 
some monastery — and enroll myself among its members. 
Woman, woman, must I teach you the difference between 
gastronomy, the science of cookery, and astronomy, the 
science of the stars ?” 

“ Gastronomy or astronomy I” said Bertha pettishly, as 
she ladled out the soup, “ it is a great deal better for 
me to understand cooking than the long names 3 "OU call 
it. Would you have liked, during all the ten years that 
you were too poor to keep a regular cook, to have a wife 
who could talk Latin with you, but whose dinners a dog 
could not have eaten ?” 

“No, no, indeed, my dear Bertha 1” said her husband 
with a shudder; “but the two can be united if you try. 
1 do not ask you either to study Greek and Latin, or to 
resign your masterly supervision of our kitchen depart- 
ment ; but you have hitherto performed many little house- 
hold offices, that could as well have been left to the 
servant, because you had no pleasanter way of occupying 

7 


74 


ONLY A GIRL; 


your time. This must be otherwise now ; hitherto you 
have had the excuse of our straitened circumstances that 
have compelled you sometimes to discharge a servant’s 
duties. Now there will be no such excuse ; for you will 
have a suitable household in town, and time to cultivate 
your mind and render yourself a worthy member of the 
society to which I shall introduce you.” 

Bertha in her impatience let her spoon fall into the 
soup-plate, and then wreaked her irritation upon the soup, 
which she poured hastily back into the tureen. 

“ If you should do such a thing as that before stran- 
gers,” said her husband angrily, “you would stamp 
yourself as a person of no refinement, and 1 should be 
disgraced.” 

Bertha brought her hand down upon the table so 
heavily that the glasses rang again. “ This is really too 
much! Can I no longer eat as I please? As long as 
you were poor, and I spent my little all in procuring deli- 
cacies for you, you found me all very well, and had plenty 
of fine words for me ; but now, that you are rich and I 
have nothing left, I am not good enough for you, and you 
take quite another tone with me. Heaven help me I 
There is no more pleasure in store for me. I really be- 
lieve you would send me out of the house if I should not 
succeed in pleasing you. Oh, if I had only known I” 

She was silent, because Lena appeared with the roast; 
but a couple of large tears dropped into the soup-plate 
which she handed to the servant. 

“ What exaggerated nonsense I” said Leuthold at last. 
“ Be good enough to carve the meat, — I am hungry. You 
know I am a respectable man, — slow to adopt harsh 
measures if they can be avoided. I hope you will not 
force me to them by stubborn conduct. You will re- 
cognize and fulfil the duties which our wealth imposes 
upon us.” 

“ Duties, duties ? I thought that when I was rich I 
could begin really to enjoy life and do as I pleased ; 
but instead of that I must wear a double face and worry 
about everything. It is just as if you gave me a new 
sofa in the place of the old one, but forbade me to lie 
down upon it for fear of injuring the cover. Of course 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 75 

I should long for the old one, upon which I could stretch 
myself in comfort whenever I chose.” 

Leuthold smiled. “ You are not forbidden to lie down 
upon the new sofa. I only ask you to take off your 
muddy boots when you do so. Do you understand ?” 

Bertha was so far consoled that she applied herself to 
devouring the food upon her plate in silence. Her hus- 
band regarded her with a strange mixture of humour 
and discontent. 

“ Y'ou must at least learn to hold your fork in your left 
hand,” he said at last. 

“ Mercy !” exclaimed Bertha again. “ What matter is 
it about such a trifle ?” 

“ A great deal of matter, my dear. Such trifles show 
refinement, just as the mercury in the thermometer shows 
the degree of heat and cold. If you lay your knife aside 
and clutch your fork in your right hand like a pitchfork, 
every one of any culture will say, ‘ That woman is a person 
of no refinement. She has not been used to good society.^ 
I grant it is insignificant in itself and ridiculous to every 
thinking man ; but it serves a certain purpose. Such 
forms are marks of distinction between cultivated and 
uncultivated people. Just because they are so insignifi- 
cant the uninitiated never pay any heed to them. But, 
although clad in purple and fine linen, ignorance of such 
trifles betrays the parvenu. Those who desire, like your- 
self, to enter circles to which they do not belong by birth, 
must find out all their conventional secrets, in order not 
to be disgraced.” 

“ Oh, what a moral discourse !” sighed Bertha. “ I have 
had enough for to-day. You are a thoroughly heartless 
man, and were kind to me only as long as you needed 
me. I must bear what comes, for I am poor and helpless 
since I broke with my father, — but you have tired me 
out, I assure you.” 

“ And if this fatigue were an overpowering sensation, 
you would separate yourself from me ; but since you are 
fond of the rest that I can provide you, there will be an 
enduring bond between us. I shall magnanimously treat 
you as my wife as long as you give me no legal ground 
for divorce ; therefore, be composed j your future lot is a 


76 


ONLY A GIRL; 


thousand times more brilliant than you had any right to 
expect.” 

Bertha arose, and was about to reply, but her husband 
commanded silence by so imperious a gesture that she 
swallowed down her anger and hastened from the room, 
sobbing violently. In the kitchen the maid was just 
taking the cake that she had made from the oven. It 
was successful — it was most beautiful ! The servant 
placed it near the open window to cool. Bertha contem- 
plated it mournfully. How much pains she had taken I 
how stiff the eggs had been beaten I how well it had 
risen I and no one cared anything about it 1 Did her 
cross husband deserve that she should prepare such a 
delicacy for him ? Should he devour this masterpiece ? 
Yet there it was, — so round and high, so brown and fra- 
grant, that she gradually dried her tears, and was filled 
with more agreeable sensations and a pardonable pride. 
No one except herself possessed the receipt for this cake. 
No one else could make it. She thought with rapture of 
the delight of those who should in future partake of it at 
her table, — of the consideration that she should enjoy on 
account of it; and, thinking thus, her good humour re- 
turned, and she determined not to hide her light under a 
bushel, and punish her husband by withholding the cake 
from him, but to parade it before him ; he should see 
what a woman he had treated so unkindly could do. When 
he tasted this cake he would repent his harshness! She 
took the plate and carried it on high into the dining-room, 
where she placed it before her husband with exultation. 

‘‘Yes, that is really beautiful,” he said approvingly, 
looking first at the round, beautiful cake, and then at 
the plump, pretty baker; and his approbation exalted 
Bertha to the highest pitch of satisfaction, so that she 
felt morally justified in asking for a glass of champagne. 
Her husband removed the cork without allowing it to 
snap and disturb the decorum of the house of mourning, 
and then poured out a sparkling bumper for her. 

“Come,” she said, “we will clink glasses, and drink to 
the welfare of the good Hartwich, who has made us 
rich !” 

“ Yes, now that he is dead, may he live forever,” said 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


n 


Leuthold smiling, and gently touching his wife^s glass 
with his own, — “ live forever in that heaven where I trust 
he may experience all the delight that his wealth will 
afford us here on earth.” 

They emptied their glasses, and Bertha ran into the 
adjoining room, where Gretchen was taking her noonday 
nap. She snatched the sleeping child from the bed, shook 
it, and cried, “Come, wake up, and you shall have some 
cake I” 

The little thing, interrupted in its nap, was frightened 
and began to scream, refusing to be quieted until her 
father filled her mouth with the promised delicacy and 
dandled her in his arms. 

“You do not even understand how to take care of your 
own child,” murmured Leuthold. “What will you do 
when our niece comes to us?” 

“Whatl” cried Bertha, “must I have the care of the 
disagreeable creature ?” 

“ She will come to me — yes.” 

“But we will send her to boarding-school — you 
promised me I” 

“ If Ernestine recovers, as she may do under old Heim’s 
care, she will be too weak for months to be sent among 
strangers without incurring the reproach of the world. 
You will be obliged, therefore, to submit to having her 
with us until such time as we can be rid of her decently. 
I assure you she shall stay no longer than is absolutely 
necessary. And now pray be quiet, and do not embitter 
this day by complaints.” 

Frau Bertha looked utterly discomfited. She deter- 
mined that, at all events, Ernestine should never partake 
of the delicacies which she alone knew how to prepare. 
Coarse natures always seek for a scape-goat upon whom 
to wreak their irritation ; and, as she did not dare to make 
her husband serve this purpose, her choice fell upon Ernes- 
tine. 

Leuthold, who was not used to see his wife lost in a 
reverie, softly touched her shoulder. “Come; it really 
looks almost as if you were thinking of something,” he 
said dryly. 

“Yes ; I am thinking of something,” she replied signi- 
• 7 * 


78 


ONLY A OIRL; 


ficantly. “ I am thinking of the dog’s life I shall lead as 
long as that sickly, ailing brat is under our roof, and no 
one will reward me for my pains.” 

She stopped, for Gretchen had grown restless, and re- 
quired all her attention, and Leuthold evidently refused 
to give any heed to her complaints, but, as dinner was over, 
folded his napkin and rose from the table. “ I must 
write the notice of his death — it is high time it were at- 
tended to,” he said, while he washed his hands in the ad- 
joining room. “Sew a piece of crape around my hat.” 
He re-entered the room, and sat down at his writing-table. 
Bertha placed a candle and a cup of cafe noir upon it. 
He lighted a cigar, which he smoked as he wrote, sipping 
his coffee comfortably from time to time. The servant 
removed the dinner-table ; Gretchen amused herself on 
the floor with some paper, which she tore into a thousand 
fragments, to make a mimic snow-storm ; and Bertha tried 
on before the mirror several articles of mourning-apparel, 
which she had had in readiness for some time. She was 
delighted, for black was very becoming to her. 

Peace and comfort reigned in the apartment. Leuthold 
emptied his cup and laid aside his pen. “There — that is 
most touching and suitable. Read it.” He handed 
Bertha what he had written, and she read: 

“ It has pleased Almighty God to release our beloved 
father, brother, and brother-in-law, Herr Carl Emil von 
Hartwich, landholder and manufacturer, from his pro- 
tracted sufferings, and to transport him to a better world. 
He died this day, at twelve m. Those who were ac- 
quainted with the deceased, and with his active benevo- 
lence, will know how profound must be our sorrow, and 
accord us their sympathy. 

“The Sad Suevivors. 

“Unkenhkim, 24 July, 18 — 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


79 


CHAPTER Y. 

UNDECEIVED. 

Ernestine was still lying motionless in Frau Gedike’s 
huge bed, and by her side sat a little nurse scarcely three 
feet high, swinging her short legs, and thinking how 
charming it must be to lie in such a great big bed, just 
like a grown person, and what a pity it was that poor 
Ernestine slept so much, that she could not enjoy the 
pleasure. Now and then she turned her fair head round 
towards the window behind her, through the white cur- 
tains of which she could see a dark procession moving 
away from the house towards the village. When it bad 
disappeared from sight, she gave a little sigh, and swung 
her feet rather more violently than before, — although she 
sat very upright, with great dignity of demeanour, for 
she was entirely conscious of the weighty responsibility 
of her post. She had been intrusted with the charge of 
watching Ernestine while the servants were attending 
the funeral services performed over Hartwich’s corpse. 
When they were concluded, and the funeral procession 
had left the house, Rieka had begged the little child to 
keep her place until the gentlemen returned from the 
church-yard, in order that the maid might perform certain 
necessary household duties. Angelika — for she it was — 
undertook the charge with delight. She had given her 
uncle Neuenstein, who had determined to pay the last 
honours to Hartwich’s remains, no peace until he con- 
sented to take her to Ernestine. True, she soon acknowl- 
edged to herself that she had never, in her whole long 
life of eight years, seen any place so tiresome as this quiet 
room, where nothing was heard but the buzzing of a 
couple of flies around a spoon in which a drop or two 
of Ernestine’s medicine had been left ; but she was not dis- 
contented j she sat as still as a mouse, so that she might 


80 


ONLY A QIRLs 


not disturb the invalid, and did not even venture to look 
at her, for she had heard that sleepers could be awakened 
by a look. Only now and then she cast a wistful glance 
at the pretty book that was clasped tight in Ernestine’s 
embrace. Suddenly the sick child muttered, “ I am lying 
turned round the wrong way in bed.” Angelika scrambled 
down in alarm from her high seat, and ran to the door 
and cried, “Rieka, Ernestine is saying something I” 

The maid hurried in, and Ernestine moved uneasily, 
and insisted that she was lying with her head towards 
the foot of the bed. At last Rieka remembered that 
Ernestine’s crib had been placed against the opposite 
wall, and suspected that she missed the old position. 
Rightly judging this to be a favourable sign, she quickly 
and carefully turned the child around in the bed ; and 
when Ernestine stretched out her hand and encountered 
the wall, where she had been accustomed to find it, she 
seemed satisfied, and apparently fell asleep again. Then 
Rieka left the room to finish her work ; but, after a few 
moments, Ernestine opened her eyes, in which for the 
first time shone the light of intelligence, and looked 
around. “Angelika I” she said in amazement, and then 
stared around the room. “Why, this is Frau Gedike’s 
room I and what a large, soft bed I” 

“ Yes, indeed,” Angelika delightedly replied. “Isn’t 
it comfortable ? Ah, you poor dear Ernestine, are you 
beginning to grow a little better ? Is your head mended 
again ?” 

Ernestine put up her hand to her bandaged head. 
“ What is this ?” 

“ You broke your head. Oh, it was terrible, I know 
from my dolls, — although it doesn’t hurt them, and you 
can put on new heads ; but they couldn’t do that for you, 
and they said you must die; but you haven’t died 1” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Ernestine, recollecting herself; “ now 
I remember ; last night my father struck me and threw 
me down. Yes, it hurt very much 1” 

“ It was not last night, it was several days ago ; but 
you slept the whole time, and didn’t you know that they 
cut off your hair ?” asked Angelika, running to the ward- 
robe and producing a thick bunch of long black hair. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


81 


“ Look, here it is, — there is some blood on it still, but, if 
you will only give it to me, I will wash it and make my 
large walking doll a splendid wig of it. Do, do give it 
to me, you can't make it grow on your head again.” 

“I’ll give it to you willingly,” said Ernestine; “but 
first ask Frau Gedike whether you may keep it.” 

“ Oh, she is not here any more, — Uncle Heim sent her 
away 1” replied Angelika, drawing the dark strands slowly 
through her fingers. 

“ Then ask my father.” 

This answer utterly discomfited Angelika. “ I cannot 
ask your father,” she said in a disappointed tone, putting 
the hair away regretfully. “ He is dead I They put him 
in the hearse a little while ago, — I saw them.” 

“Ob,” said Ernestine, startled, “is he dead? Why, 
why did he die just now ?” 

“ I think because he was so angry with you,” said 
Angelika with an air of great wisdom. “ Don’t you 
know when I am naughty mamma shuts me up in a dark 
room ? and, because your father was a great deal naughtier 
than I, God has shut him up in a dark hole in the ground, 
and he must stay there always.” 

“Ah, for my sake, the dear God should not have done 
that, for my sake!” said Ernestine, bursting into tears. 
“ Now I have no father any more ; I have nobody ; I am 
all alone in the world I My poor father 1 it is all my fault 
that he is put into the narrow grave, where the worms 
will eat him and there will be nothing left of him but 
bones. Oh, how horrible ! how horrible ! I saw a skele- 
ton once in a picture, and my poor, poor father will look 
just like that !” And she wrung her thin hands and 
writhed about in the bed, moaning loudly. 

Angelika was in despair at the mischief she had done. 
She had quite forgotten that she had been forbidden, if 
Ernestine should awake, to speak to her of her father. 
In the greatest distress she walked to and fro beside the 
high bed, and at last brought a tall stool, from which, 
when she had mounted it, she could reach Ernestine. She 
kissed her, she stroked her cheeks, and laid her chubby 
hand upon her mouth to silence her, but in vain. At last 
she hit upon the idea of showing her the book that lay 


82 


ONLY A GIRL; 


beside her. She opened it at a picture and held it up 
before her, saying, “ Look, dear Ernestine, only look at 
your beautiful book !” The sick child instantly brushed 
the tears from her eyes when she saw the picture 

“ The swan I” she cried, “ the swan I that is the story 
of the Ugly Duckling!” She hastily took the book out of 
Angelika’s hands and turned over the leaves. Gradually 
the fairy figures of the snow-queen, the little mermaid, 
and the rest, obliterated the horrible image of her dead 
father, and his narrow grave faded away to give place to 
the shining garden of Paradise, and the clear, broad sea 
with the fairy palaces beneath its crystal waves. Her 
sobs grew fainter and fainter, and at last a smile played 
around her lips when she came to the story of the dryad 
“Elder Blossom.” 

“ Now I know what a dryad is,” she said. “ I am 
glad, I am very glad I” 

“ What is it that makes you so glad ?” 

“ That a dryad is nothing bad, for — don’t you know? — 
he called me that. I thought it was to mock me, and it hurt 
me, but it was not so.” 

“ He ? who ?” 

“ I don’t know his name, your brother, who gave me 
the book.” 

“ Johannes ?” laughed Angelika. “ Do you like him ?” 

“Yes, oh, yes, he is so handsome and good, just like 
the prince in the Little Mermaid.” With these words a 
light shone in the child’s dark eyes. “ I would far rather 
have turned into foam than done anything to hurt him, if 
I had been the mermaid.” 

“ That is charming I that is splendid I” Angelika de- 
clared with delight ; “ we both love him 1 He is such 
a dear brother. It is a pity he has gone away. If he 
were at home he would come and play with you ; oh, he 
plays so finely !” 

“ Has he gone away ?” asked Ernestine sadly. 

“ Yes, he has gone to Paris to get me a wax doll ; only 
think I — one that can call ‘ Papa’ and ‘ Mamma.’ ” 

“ Oh, there cannot be such dolls !” said Ernestine with 
a troubled look. 

“ Indeed there are, and when she comes I will show her 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


83 


to you. Remember the doll in ‘ Ole Luckoie she could 
speak, and had a fine wedding.” 

“ But that isn’t a true story,” said Ernestine wisely, 
putting her hand to her head, which was beginning to ache 
badly. 

“ Only think what a charming thing it is to have a 
wedding,” Angelika ran on. “ I once went to a real wed- 
ding, and it was almost finer than the one in the story. 
Oh, the bride has a lovely time I Why, she sits just in the 
middle of the table, and in front of her is a great, tall cake, 
with a little house on top of it and a little man inside, a little 
bit of a man, with a bow and arrows, but no clothes on at 
all. She has the biggest piece of cake, and they put the 
dear little man upon her plate, and she is helped first 
to everything. I was really vexed with my cousin for 
eating hardly anything. And only think, last of all came 
ice-cream doves sitting in a nest made of sugar, upon 
eggs of marchpane I They looked so natural that I was 
too sorry when my cousin cut off one of their heads ; I 
could have cried, and I determined not to eat any of it, 
but by the time it came to me, every one could see that 
it was not a real dove, for it was all melting away, and 
you had to eat it with a spoon. And there were quanti- 
ties of champagne, and all the gentlemen made long 
speeches to the bride, and you had to sit perfectly still 
and not rattle your spoon at all while they were talking, 
but when they had done you could scream as loud as 
you pleased, and clatter your glasses, and the more noise 
you made the better; and all were pleased and kissed 
one another ; only my cousin sat there so stupidly and 
cried. I wouldn’t have cried when everything was 
done to please me. And I’ll tell you what, when my 
brother comes back he must bring you a boy doll with a 
hat and waistcoat, and then he shall marry my doll. He 
will come in six months, but that must be a long time ; for 
mamma cried when he went away. Perhaps we shall be 
grown up by then, and can make our dolls’ clothes our- 
selves. That would be lovely.” 

“ But we shall not be grown up in six months,” said 
Ernestine. “ First winter must come, and then summer 
again, and theJi winter and summer again, before we are 
grown up 1” 


84 


ONLY A OIRL: 


“ That is terribly long,” cried Angelika. “ I don’t see 
how we can wait so long.” 

“ And when we are grown up we cannot play with 
dolls. Then I shall buy myself a telescope like Uncle 
Leuthold’s, and always be looking into the moon, for I 
like it better than anything.” 

“ Into the moon ? Have you ever looked into the 
moon ?” asked Angelika in amazement. 

“Indeed I have.” 

“ How does it look there ?” 

“ Oh, beautiful, most beautiful I It shines and gleams 
so silvery, and it is so calm and quiet, and there are 
mountains and valleys there just like ours, only they are 
not coloured, they are just pure light !” 

“ Did you see the man in the moon ?” 

“ No, I didn’t see him ; Uncle Leuthold said there are 
no people in the moon ; but I don’t believe him. They 
are only so far off that we can’t see them. And they 
must be much happier and better than w^e are here ; I’m 
sure they never beat children ; and who knows whether 
perhaps the dear God himself does not live there ? If I 
could fly, I would fly up there I” And she gazed upward 
with beaming eyes, and a long sigh escaped from her 
little breast. 

“ No, dear Ernestine, you must not fly away ; no one 
can tell that the moon is as lovely near to, as it is so far 
off. And it is very nice here, too, for when you grow 
up you can be either a mamma or an aunt, and then no 
one can do anything to you. No one ever strikes my aunt 
or my mamma — no one!” 

But Ernestine was no longer conscious of the child’s 
prattle ; her eyes closed, her beloved book dropped from 
her hands ; Ole Luckoie, the gentle Northern god of slum- 
ber, had arisen from its pages. He had poured balm 
into her painful wound, and extended his canopy, with 
its thousands of gay pictures, over her soul. 

Angelika looked at her for awhile, and then asked, 
“ Are you asleep again ?” and, upon receiving no an- 
sw^er, she was quite content, and got softly down from 
the high stool, and seated herself again upon her chair 
with the grave air of a sentinel. At last Heim, with 


OR A PHY&ICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


85 


Herr Neuenstein, came home from the funeral, and the 
two gentlemen entered the apartment together. 

“ She has been talking with me,’’ Angelika announced. 

“What I has she come to. herself?” asked the Geheim- 
rath in pleased surprise. 

“ Oh, yes, — we talked about a great many things — and 
then she went to sleep again.” 

The Geheimrath rubbed his hands. — “That’s good I 
Did she seem to be perfectly sensible ?” 

“Oh, yes; she was perfectly sensible,” Angelika as 
sured him. 

“ What a pity that I was not here 1 Now I hope we 
shall bring her through,” said the Geheimrath to Herr 
Neuenstein ; but the latter stood looking at the corpse- 
like figure of the sleeping child, and shook his head. 

“ I see,” continued the physician, “ that it seems im- 
possible to you, and yet I believe she will recover. Who 
that sees such a faded blossom lying there would suspect 
the wonderful recuperative energy hidden within it? And 
I tell you this child possesses an immense amount of 
vitality, or she would have succumbed to such brutal 
treatment as she has received. She will recover ; believe 
me, she will recover.” 

“ I should rejoice indeed to think that your exertions 
will not prove in vain. And you really wish to take her 
with you ?” 

“ Yes, if her hypocritical uncle will let her go, I will 
deliver her from his claws, and educate her as is best for 
her health and becoming to her position as an heiress.” 

“You are a genuine philanthropist, Geheimrath.” 

“ Yes, I am a philanthropist ; but there is small merit 
in that. Some people love puppies and kittens, others 
cultivate flowers with enthusiasm, — I love to educate and 
train human beings. Whenever a pair of melancholy 
eyes stare out at me from a child’s face, I want to stick 
the child in my herbarium like a rare flower. Yes, if it 
only cost as little to cultivate children as plants, I should 
have had a human hot-house long ago. But the taste is 
BO confoundedly expensive.” 

“ Yes, we all know that you spend your whole income 
8 


86 


ONLY A GIRL; 


in such good works. You might have been a million- 
aire long ago, if it had not been for your lavish gener- 
osity.” 

“ What would you have ? One man wastes his money 
upon one whim, and another on another. This happens 
to be my whim, and I spend just as much upon it as I 
can conscientiously in the interest of my adopted son, 
who stands nearest my heart. But now do me the kind- 
ness to leave the room, for our talk is disturbing the 
child’s sleep. I will stay here for an hour and watch 
her.” 

“ Come, Angelika,” said Neuenstein : “ Uncle Heim is 
very cross to-day, — let us go home.” He took the child’s 
hand, and nodded affectionately to Heim. “ Shall I send 
the carriage for you ?” 

“No, I thank you; I must return to the capital; the 
king has commanded my attendance this afternoon. But 
I shall be here again to-morrow.” 

“ Adieu, dear uncle,” said little Angelika, standing on 
tiptoe, and holding up her rosy lips to be kissed. “ You 
won’t be cross to me, will you ?” she asked, nestling her 
fair curls among his gray locks as he bent down to her; 
“I have been so good I” And then she went softly out 
with Herr Neuenstein. 

When Heim was alone, he sat down by the bedside, 
and silently contemplated the sleeping child. “ I’ll wager,” 
he thought, “that she will be very beautiful one of 
those days. Her face is older than her years, and that is 
always ugly in a child, but when her age accords with 
the earnestness of that brow, and her features lose their 
sharpness under more kindly treatment, it will be a mag- 
nificent head. To think of having such a child and 
beating it half to death I Such a child I” 

Something like a tear glistened in the old man’s eyes, 
and he softly took a pinch of snuff to compose himself, 
for these thoughts filled him with the pain of an old 
wound, and well-nigh overcame him. But the pinch was 
of no avail. He gazed upon the treasure before him, 
which had fallen to one utterly unworthy such a gift, 
who had neglected and despised it, and he thought what 
joy its possession would have given him. And he re- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. SI 

membered that such joy might have been his, had his 
heart not clung unalterably to one who was not destined 
for him. Now it was too late ; and the past, in which he 
might have sown the harvest of love that he longed 
to reap, was irrevocable. The passion that had so long 
filled his heart was conquered and dead ; but the long- 
ing for affection, that is stronger than passion, still lived 
on in the old man’s breast. “ When a man’s wife dies 
and leaves him,” he thought, “she lives again in her 
children ; but he who has neither wife nor child is 
doubly poor.” He had watched over many human lives, 
but not one could he call his own ; he had preserved the 
lives of many, he had given life to none. He had seen 
the bitterest woes soothed by affection, and he should die 
without leaving one child behind to mourn his loss. And, 
lost in such thoughts, it seemed to him that he was ac- 
tually lying upon his death-bed, and that he felt a soft arm 
stealing around his neck, and heard a sweet, caressing 
voice sob out, “ Father.” 

It was Ole Luckoie who had granted him this bitter- 
sweet dream by Ernestine’s bedside; it vanished as 
quickly as it had appeared, and left nothing behind but a 
tear on the old man’s furrowed cheek. 

Then the latch of the door began to tremble, as though 
a carriage were driving by, and the heavy footsteps that 
caused the noise approached the apartment. Before the 
Qeheimrath could prevent it, the door was flung open, 
and Bertha’s colossal figure appeared upon the threshold. 
She was dressed in a new shining black silk, and the stiff 
cambric lining rustled so loudly as she approached the 
bed that the child started up frightened, and the Geheim- 
rath could not suppress an exclamatiom. 

“ Good-morning, Herr Geheimrath ; good-morning, 
Tina,” she said with a nod. “ So, Tina, you’re alive 
still, I see. There was no need of such a great fuss 
about you, after all.” 

Ernestine, at this rude greeting, flung herself to the 
farther side of the bed, and cried, “Oh, send my aunt 
away 1 — I do not want to see her. I will not 1” 

The Geheimrath politely offered his arm to the in- 
truder and conducted her from the room without a word. 


88 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Bertha, amazed, asked, “Why, what have I done? Can’t 
I see^my niece ?” 

“ If you yourself do not understand, madam, that this 
frail life needs to be treated with the greatest possible 
tenderness, I, a physician, must tell you that it will be 
your fault if my care of the child should prove of no avail 
and she should die in spite of it. I must therefore entreat 
you either to discontinue your visits to the child, or to 
address her more gently.” 

“Why, goodness gracious I” cried Bertha, “I was 
only in jest. Mercy on me 1 you may wrap her up in 
cotton-wool, for all I care.” 

The Geheimrath gave an involuntary sigh. “ Poor 
child,” he thought, “to be in danger of falling into such 
hands !” 

Suddenly the hall-door was opened, and a face ap- 
peared, so ashy pale, so livid, that Bertha started in ter- 
ror. It was Leuthold ; but he was hardly to be recog- 
nized. When he perceived the Geheimrath, he saluted 
him with his usual courtesy, then, extending his hand to 
Bertha, said in a low voice, “ My dear Bertha, be kind 
enough to come up-stairs with me.” 

She followed him in the greatest trepidation, for she 
had never before beheld him thus ; and on the joyful day 
of Ilartwich’s funeral, too 1 What could have happened ? 
He took her hand and conducted her up the staircase, 
his fingers were as cold and clammy as those of a corpse. 
She almost shuddered as they walked along together in 
such solemn silence. 

They reached the door of their own apartment. Leu- 
thold entered, dragged his wife in after him, closed the 
door, and, before she was aware of what he was doing, 
she felt the icy hand around her throat like an iron band. 

“ Shall I strangle you ?” he gasped, with eyes like a 
serpent’s when it is wound around its victim. 

“ Merciful Heaven 1” shrieked Bertha, falling upon her 
knees to extricate herself. The cold hand grasped her 
throat still more tightly. 

“ Utter one sound that the servants can hear, and I 

will throttle you I” hissed Leuthold. “Be quiet! or ” 

Bertha ceased struggling, and almost lost her conscious- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


89 


ness. He then released her and pushed her down upon 
the sofa, where she sat utterly astounded. 

He put his hand to his head, and then whispered, 
almost inaudibly, as though speaking with the greatest 
difficulty, “On the day of Ernestine’s fall, when Heim 
came to the house, do you remember that I strictly en- 
joined it upon you to observe narrowly whatever occurred 
in the house 

“ Yes,” stammered the frightened woman. 

“ Did you do it 

No answer. 

“ You did not do it.” 

“ I was so afraid of Hartwich that I went up-stairs 
again,” Bertha confessed with hesitation. 

“And so, — ” Leuthold’s chest heaved, his breath 
came heavily, and he clenched his hands convulsively, 

“ and so it is your fault that Hartwich has disinherited 
us and left all his property to Ernestine.” His face grew 
still paler, his slender figure tottered, he grasped at a 
chair for support, and fell fainting upon the ground. 

“ Good God I” shrieked Bertha, shaking the prostrate 
man violently, “ the whole property ? tell me, the whole 
property? Oh, you miserable man, what folly to fall 
into such spasms ! Speak, and tell me whether we have 
nothing at all, or what we have I” 

Leuthold slowly raised his head. Bertha carried, 
more than supported, him to the sofa. She brought some 
eau-de-cologne and poured it over his head so that it ran 
into his eyes. He uttered an exclamation of pain, and 
tried to wipe away the burning fluid from his eyes. 
“Are you trying to deprive me of my eyesight?” he 
groaned, and, when the pain was relieved, he sat in a 
dejected attitude, staring into vacancy. 

“ For mercy’s sake, speak I” cried Bertha. “ You can, 
at least, open^your mouth. No legacy? Not an an- 
nuity ?” 

Leuthold looked at his unfeeling wife with an ex- 
pression that, in spite of herself, drove the blood to her 
cheeks. There was something indescribable in the look, 
— a mixture of the pity and contempt with which one 
contemplates the body of a suicide. 

8 * 


90 


ONLY A GIRL ; 


“ An annuity of six hundred thalers,” he murmured, 
and covered his eyes with his hand, as if to shut out 
everything around him while he collected his scattered 
senses. 

“ Too much to die upon, and too little to live upon I” 
moaned Bertha, and, bursting into tears, she threw her- 
self upon a chair in the farthest corner of the room, 
Leuthold sat motionless for a long time, his face hidden 
in his hands ; he scarcely seemed to breathe. He ap- 
peared to need all his physical strength to assist him to 
endure the mental agony which was overpowering him, — 
to have no strength left to stir a limb. The man of feel- 
ing tries to master his unhappiness by raging and lament- 
ing, — he combats his agony by physical exertion, — he 
rushes hither and thither, beats his head against the wall, 
wrings his hands, and lessens his woe in a degree by a 
certain amount of muscular activity. The man of intel- 
lect struggles mentally, and stands in need of entire phys- 
ical repose. Such a man as Leuthold could only for 
a moment be excited to violence against the hated cause 
of his misfortune ; he soon regained his exterior compo- 
sure, and his misery became an intellectual labour, which 
might produce loss of reason, and was never-ceasing. 

He sat lost in a profound reverie. Now and then, like 
lightning across a cloud, some idea of help in his misery 
flashed across his brain, but it vanished as soon as it ap- 
peared, leaving each time a blacker night in his soul. 

“The sacrifice of ten long years gone for nothing!” he 
said at last in stifled accents. “ My hair is bleached be- 
fore its time with the slavery to which I have submitted 
with this goal in view, and now the prize is snatched from 
me just as it seemed within my reach. Again I must 
bow my neck to the yoke, and, with a mind fitted to ap- 
propriate to itself the most precious treasures of science, 
toil for my bread ! I have wasted the best years of my 
life, that I may now begin all over again — an old man. 
It was indeed a losing game ! When my powers began 
to fail me, I comforted myself with hopes of a near re- 
lease; but now what can sustain me when that hope has 
deserted me ? No release in future, — nothing but a never- 
ending struggle for daily sustenance 1 Oh 1” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


91 


With a long-drawn sigh of mortal agony, the tortured 
man buried his face in the cushion of the sofa, and 
another long silence ensued, broken only by Bertha’s loud 
sobbing. 

At last she could endure the silence no longer. “What 
is to be done now ?” she asked half sorrowfully, half defi- 
antly. 

“ Let me alone,” said Leuthold. “ Leave me — you see 
how I am suffering and struggling!” 

“ How did you know about the matter ?” she insisted. 

“ That fellow Lederer whispered it to me on returning 
from the funeral. He signed the will as a witness. We 
were separated in the crowd, and I could not even ask 
him whether I was left guardian or not. If I were only 

guardian ” He ceased, and sunk again into a profound 

reverie. 

There was a slight noise in the adjoining room, and a 
lovely, smiling child’s face looked in, and a clear, musical 
voice cried, “ Peep 1” At the sound Leuthold turned his 
head and looked with strange emotion towards the place 
where his daughter was standing. The little girl planted 
herself firmly upon her feet, and, after a couple of futile 
attempts, managed, to her own great delight, to cross the 
high threshold. This difficulty surmounted, she tripped 
gleefully across to her mother, who sat nearest the door ; 
but upon receiving a rude repulse from her — a repulse 
that almost threw her down — she determined to pursue 
her journey as far as her father. To insure her swifter 
progress, she betook herself to all fours, and, when she 
reached her goal, climbed up by her father’s knees and 
smiled into his face. Leuthold gazed for a few moments 
into her round, innocent eyes; his own grew dim; he 
took the child in his arms and whispered, as he clasped 
her to his breast, “ Poor child 1” His breath came quick 
— be clasped her tighter and tighter in his arms, until 
suddenly a burst of tears relieved his overburdened soul. 
The father’s heart was filled for once with pure human 
emotion. 

Gretchen tried to wipe his eyes with her little apron, 
and patted his cheeks with her chubby hands. 

There is a wonderful power in the touch of a child’s 


92 


ONLY A GIRL; 


soft, pure hand, soothing a wildly-beating heart and 
strengthening a soul sickened by hope deferred. It 
seemed to Leuthold as if the wounds that had tormented 
him were healed by that gentle touch. He kissed the 
rosy little palms again and again. He would labour with 
all his might for this child — she should have a brilliant 
future at any cost. He arose, and, putting her gently 
down on the carpet, walked slowly to and fro with 
folded arms, revolving in his busy brain a thousand 
plans for the future. His thoughts were rudely dis- 
turbed by Bertha, who, for want of any other object, 
wreaked her ill humour upon Gretchen. The child had 
got hold of an embroidered footstool, and was engaged 
in the delightful occupation of picking off the bugles and 
pearls fastened upon the fringe. Bertha snatched it 
away, and was slapping the little hands violently, when 
suddenly Leuthold seized her arm and held it in a firm 
grasp, while anger flashed in his eyes ; and his words, 
his bearing, his whole manner, filled her with terror 
as he began : “ Your nature is so coarse that you cannot 
even appreciate the promptings of maternal instinct. Had 
you possessed one atom of feminine feeling, you would 
have seen what a comfort the child is to me, and would 
have lavished tenderness upon her, instead of maltreat- 
ing her. But of what consequence are my sorrows to 
you ? When I staggered and fell to the ground beneath 
the weight of my misery, you thought only of yourself; 
your gentlest word to me was ‘ miserable man.’ Let me 
tell you, however, that the weakness of an ailing man is 
not so repulsive as the rude strength of a coarse woman. 
Therefore, be kind enough to moderate the exhibition of 
your strength, at least towards this angel, who shall 
never suffer for an hour as long as I draw breath.” 

Bertha put Gretchen on the ground, and stood with 
arms akimbo. “ Oh I” she began, trembling with rage, 
“ is this the tone you begin to take — talking in this way 
to me just when you ought to be grateful to me for con- 
senting to share your wretched lot ?” 

“ My wretched lot ?” repeated Leuthold, while his face 
grew deadly white again. “Who has made my lot a 
wretched one ? — who other than yourself? Do you dare 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


93 


to increase its misery ? Is not your disobedience, your 
folly, the cause of the whole misfortune ? If you had 
obeyed my commands, and kept watch upon what was 
going on in the house, the arrival of the lawyers would not 
have escaped you. You might have informed me and I 
could, even at the last moment, have prevented the making 
of that will. You, and you alone, have ruined my child’s 
and my own future ; and, instead of falling at my feet 
and begging for forgiveness, you dare to reproach me! 
It would be ridiculous, if it were not so deplorable .f” 

“ Of course,” said Bertha, “it is all my fault. I expected 
that. Why didn’t you stay at home yourself and watch ? 
Because you suspected nothing, no more than I did, and 
because you wanted to get out of the way of Heim, who 
knew all about your former disgrace. Is it my fault that 
you have conducted yourself so in the past that you have 
to avoid all your old acquaintances?” 

Leuthold swelled with indignation. “ Silence, wretched 
woman ! Would you drive me to extremities ?” 

“Yes,” continued Bertha more angrily than ever, — 
“yes, I don’t care now what you do. The only satisfac- 
tion I can have now is speaking out the truth to you 
for once. I will be reconciled to my father while there 
is time. Perhaps he will make over the business to 
me. I understand how to conduct it, and can make 
it pay. I shall have a better chance there, at any rate, 
than in staying here to starve with you. My honest old 
father was right when he warned me against you. Heaven 
only knows what infatuated me so with your hatchet face. 
I saw from the first what you were, — a heap of learning 
and mind, and a perfect icicle, with whom I never could 
be happy. We had only been married two months, when 
there was all that disgraceful fuss with Hilsborn ; my father 
wanted me to be separated from you then ; but you stuffed 
my ears with stories of your brother here, who would 
make you rich ; and I believed you, and gave up my old 
father, and came here to this hole to live with you. What 
did I get by it? The little property that I inherited from 
my mother has been frittered away in household expenses, 
that you might seem disinterested to your brother. I 
gave up everything, — concerts, theatres, parties, — and 


94 


ONLY A GIRL; 


willingly ; for I depended upon a brilliant future. I have 
waited patiently and obediently until your brother should 
kill himself with the drink of which he was so fond ; and, 
now that he is dead, what have I got in exchange for 
time, youth, money, and all ? And now I am to make 
a grateful courtesy, and say, ‘My dear husband, ’tis 
true that you have robbed me of everything, you have 
attempted to strangle me ; but I will nevertheless take 
the liberty of remaining with you, that you may con- 
tinue to enjoy the pleasure of calling me rough, coarse, 
and good for nothing, and that you may instruct me with 
which hand I am to put in my mouth the potatoes that 
are aU we shall have to live upon.’ This is what I am to 
say, is it not ? Yes ” 

Leuthold had been listening attentively, and, in the 
course of this long speech, had regained his former com- 
posure. He now interrupted her with, “That is, in other 
words, that you contemplate adding to my misfortunes 
the withdrawal of your amiable presence, leaving me to 
bear my heavy lot alone. Your intention demands my 
gratitude; if you wish for a divorce, I am entirely agreed 
to it, only pray furnish the ground for it yourself, that 
my good name may not be compromised. We have lived 
together hitherto in such outward harmony, it might be 
difficult to convince a court of the impossibility of a 
longer union. There must, therefore, be some legal ground 
for a divorce, and you can arrange all that to suit your- 
self.” 

“ What I” cried Bertha, “ am I to conduct myself dis- 
gracefully that people may despise me and pity you, — 
wolf in sheep’s clothing that you are? No, no ; I’m not 
quite so stupid as that. And then my father would not 
receive me, and there would be nothing left for me in this 
world.” 

Leuthold walked thoughtfully to and fro. “ It was 
the mistake of my life that ten )^ears ago I married 
you to get money to make that journey to Trieste. I 
thought you more harmless than you are. For ten long 
years 1 have endured the annoyance of your coarseness 
and narrow-mindedness. Such a wife as you are is a 
perpetual thorn in the side of such a man as myself; my 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


95 


nerves have suffered terribly. And now I find you are 
not even capable of maternal affection, — you cannot treat 
your child as you should. If it were not for Gretchen, I 
would never see you again, — but now ” 

Bertha started. “ Why, yes, — I never thought of 
Gretchen.” 

“You can easily understand that I shall not give up 
my child,” Leuthold went on, looking fondly at the lovely 
little creature, who was sitting on the carpet prattling 
softly and unintelligibly to herself. “ She is all that is 
left to me of my shattered existence ; — my last hopes in 
life are centred in her — I will never give her up I The 
law gives her to you if I should furnish grounds for a 
divorce : so, you see, I cannot take the initiative. If, how- 
ever, you consent to a separation, and will leave Gretchen 
to me, you are free to leave my house whenever you 
please. Consider what I say.” 

Bertha knelt down upon the carpet, and said in a com- 
plaining tone, “ Gretel, shall mamma go far away ?” 

The child, in whose mind the remembrance of the slaps 
that had made its little hands so red was still very lively, 
avoided her caress, and crept away as fast as it could to 
its father’s feet. 

“ Its choice is made*,” said Leuthold, taking it in his 
arms. 

“ Of course you are quite capable of setting my own 
flesh and blood against me,” whined Bertha. “ What 
shall I do I I cannot leave the child, and I will not stay 
with you. What shall I do I” 

She walked heavily up and down the room, wringing 
her hands. Leuthold had carried Gretchen to the win- 
dow, and was looking down into the court-yard, where 
the broad, stalwart figure of Heim was just leaving the 
house. He shot one glance of deadly hatred at his enemy, 
but it did no harm; and with a profound sigh Leuthold 
leaned his cold forehead against the window-frame and 
looked on whilst Heim stepped into his carriage and took 
a pinch of snuff with a most cheerful air. The driver 
clambered clumsily upon the box, andi gathered up his 
whip and reins, the horses started off, the chickens flew 
in all directions, their old friend the watch-dog came 


96 


ONLY A GIRL; 


barking out of his kennel, and the old-fashioned coach, 
belonging to the Hartwich establishment, rattled away. 

As, after seasons of intense emotion, the exhausted mind 
slavishly follows the lead of the ever-active senses, Leu- 
thold, in his misery, thus minutely observed every par- 
ticular of Heim’s departure. 

“ He is happy !” he thought ; and then his eyes rested 
upon the fowls devouring the remains of the oats that 
had been brought for the horses. “Happy he to whom 
has been given the faculty of making himself beloved ! 
mankind follow him as those fowls follow in the track 
of Heim’s carriage. Is it any merit of his that wins 
him the hearts of all? Bah, nonsense! it is a talent, 
— and the most profitable one for its possessor. These 
benefactors of mankind, as they are called, thrive upon 
it: who would not do likewi.se if he only could? But 
those who have not the gift cannot do it. One man 
comes into the world with qualities that make him useful 
and pleasing to his fellow-men ; another with propensities 
that make him an object of fear to his kind. Is the lap- 
dog to be commended because his agreeable characteristics 
qualify him to spend his life luxuriously on a silken 
cushion ? And is the fox to be blamed because he does 
not understand how to ingratiate himself with mankind, 
but must eke out his miserable existence by theft ? Each 
after his kind, and we human beings have senses in com- 
mon with the brutes, — and why not the peculiarities also 
of their several species ? Yes, there are lapdogs among 
us, and foxes, and wolves, cats, and tigers! Struggle 
against it as we may, with all our babble of free will, 
temperament is everything. How can I help it if I be- 
long among the foxes ? Only a fool would look for moral 
causes in all this chaos of chances. The activity of na- 
ture is shown in eternal creation, destruction, and re-crea- 
tion from destructioif, — plants, brutes, and men are the 
blind tools of her secret forces, creative and destructive, 
or, as the moralist calls them, good and evil ! But what 
do we call good? What pleases us. What evil ? That 
which harms us. » And we are to judge the world by this 
narrow egotistic scale of morals ? Oh, what folly ! Crea.- 
tive and destructive forces — are they not alike necessary 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 9t 

agents in nature’s great workshop ? And if they work 
so steadily in unconscious matter, are they dead in man- 
kind, the embodiment of conscious nature ? Is our poor, 
patched- up code of morals strong enough to tear asunder 
the chains that keep us bound fast to the order of the 
universe? No, — it is miserable arrogance to maintain 
such a theory. Nature has never created a species with- 
out producing another hostile to it; the rule holds good 
in the world of humanity as well as among plants and 
brutes. The parasite that preys upon its supporting 
plant, the insect depositing its eggs in the body of the 
caterpillar, the falcon pursuing the innocent dove, the 
tiger rending the mild-eyed antelope, and, lastly, the man 
who preserves his own existence by preying upon his 
fellow-men, — all are only the exponents of those hostile 
forces that are indispensable to the economy of nature. 
Who can venture to talk of good and evil ? There is only 
one idea that we owe to our advanced culture, — only one 
varnish that bedaubs and conceals the beast in us, — re- 
gard for appearances ! This is the corner-stone of our 
ethics, the only thoroughly practicable discipline for the 
human race. Let a due regard for appearances be 
observed, and we are distinguished, lauded, and beloved 
among men, — the only reward of our virtue is the recogni- 
tion of it by our excellent contemporaries; their judgment 
decides the degree of our morality; everjThing else is the 
exaggeration of fancy.” 

He was aroused from this reverie by Bertha, who sud- 
denly shook him by the shoulder with an impatient 
“ Well ?” 

Lent hold looked at her like a man awakened from a 
dream. “ What is it?” he inquired. 

“ I want to know what is to be done ?” she replied 
angrily. 

Leuthold laid the child, who had fallen asleep upon 
his shoulder, on the sofa. 

“ Oh, yes, with regard to our separation.” 

“ 1 suppose you had entirely forgotten it.” , 

“ I confess that I was thinking of something else at the 
moment; but the matter is very simple. Go to your father 

9 


98 


ONLY A OIRL; 


and effect a reconciliation with him. Gretchen will stay 
with me. You are free to go and come as you please. 
If you find that you cannot do without the chi'd, in a few 
weeks you can return, if you choose.' It would, at all 
events, he better for you to be away for awhile until 
I have rearranged my miserable affairs. I am going now 
to hear the will read. If I am appointed Ernestine’s 
guardian, my life will be connected for the future with 
that of my ward.’^ He suddenly gazed into vacancy, as 
if struck by a new idea, then started and seized his hat. 
“Yes, yes, I must go. Perhaps I am guardian!” And 
he turned away. 

Bertha called after him, “ Then I may get ready to go ?” 

“ Do just as you |)lease,” he replied, turning upon the 
threshold with all the old courtesy, and then disappeared. 

Bertha went to her wardrobe and began to collect her 
po.^sessions. “ 1 am rightly paid for leaving a good 
head-waiter in the lurch for the sake of a fine doctor. If 
I had married Friiz, 1 should now have been the land- 
lady of a hotel, while, the wife of a doctor, 1 don’t know 
where to lay my head !” She looked across the room at 
the sleeping child. “ If I only had not that child, I should 
be easier! But, then, it is his child. She loves him far 
better than me. It will be just like him one day, and a 
sorrow to me,” she muttered. Then, as if the last thought 
were repented of as soon as conceived, she hastened up 
to Gretchen, and, weeping, kissed her pure white fore- 
head. Yo, no, you cannot help me !” she sobbed, and 
snatched the child to her broad breast. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


99 


CHAPTER YI. 

SOUL-MURDER. 

A FRESH autumual breeze was shaking the heavy 
boughs of the fruit-trees in the Hartwich kitchen-garden. 
Beneath a spreading apple-tree a new bench, painted 
green, had recently been placed. Some white garments, 
hanging upon a line to dry, fluttered like triumphal pen- 
nons in the direction from which a number of persons 
was slowly approaching the apple-tree. Rieka was care- 
fully pushing along the rolling-chair, which, after so 
long affording shelter to the cats and chickens, had lately 
been recushioned and repaired. By its side walked good 
old Heim and Leuthold. Ernestine’s frail little figure, 
with head still bandaged and hands gently folded, re- 
clined in the chair; and if her large, dark eyes had not 
been riveted with an expression of utter enjoyment upon 
the distant landscape, she might have been thought 
smiling in death, so ashy pale was her emaciated counte- 
nance, so bloodless were the lips which were slightly open 
to inhale the pure morning air. The signs of returning and 
departing life are as wonderfully alike as morning and 
evening twilight. The child lying there, silent and mo- 
tionless, might to all appearance be bidding farewell to 
the world, instead of greeting it anew after her dangerous 
illness. For to-day Ernestine was, as it were, celebrating 
her resurrection to life. It was the first time that she 
had been permitted to breathe the pure, open air of 
heaven ; and her delight was so profound that she could 
only fold her little hands and pray silently. She had not 
the strength even to turn herself upon her cushions ; but 
her youthful soul was preening its wings and soaring with 
the birds into the blue autumn skies. 

“ How are you now, my child Leuthold asked in a 
tone of tender sympathy. 


L C 


100 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ Oh, so well, dear uncle I” the little girl whispered with 
a long-drawn sigh. “ I think I could run about, if I 
might.” 

“ Ah, you could not yet, even if you might,” said Heim, 
looking not without anxiety into the child’s face, trans- 
figured by an almost unearthly expression. And he laid 
his finger upon her pulse, now scarcely perceptible. 

“ Her spirit, as she recovers, is in advance of her body,” 
he said, lingering behind with Leuthold. “ Physically 
such a child is soon conquered and destroyed, but the 
heart is a wonderful thing in its power of endurance. I 
never see an expression of real suffering upon a child’s 
face without the deepest sympathy. For when should 
we be really gay and happy in this life, if not while we 
are children ?” 

“ You are right,” said Leuthold. “ That melancholy 
mouth, shaping itself now to an unaccustomed smile, 
those bright eyes, around which the traces of tears are 
scarcely yet obliterated, touch me deeply.” 

Heim glanced keenly at the speaker expressing himself 
apparently with emotion. 

“Oh, what a pretty new bench!” said Ernestine in a 
weak voice, as they reached the apple-tree. “And the 
boughs droop around it like an arbour.” 

Her gaze roved hither and thither ; the fluttering linen 
on the line pleased her ; the white butterflies, with spotted 
wings, hovering about the beds, enchanted her ; she 
thought the far stretch of country, with its distant border 
of forest, magnificent, — everything was so new that she 
seemed to see it for the first time, and admired it all with 
intense delight. The long rows of irregular bean-poles 
opened mysterious, attractive paths to her imagination. 
Even the tall asparagus and the heads of cabbage, upon 
which large beads of morning dew were still lying, seemed 
to her master-pieces of nature. 

“ Oh, how lovely the world is !” she said to the two 
gentlemen. “ And no one to punish me ! You are so 
kind, Herr Geheimrath, and you. Uncle Leuthold, and 
you too, Rieka, are so good to me I I thank you all so 
much 1” And she took and kissed the hands of Leuthold 
and Heim as they stood beside her, while tears filled her 
eyes. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


101 


“ You strange child, what makes you cry now?’^ asked 
Leuthold. 

“ I cannot tell ; I am so happy 1’^ sobbed Ernestine. 

If I only had a father or a mother 1” 

“ But if your father were alive he would beat you 
again,” said Rieka, taking a strictly practical view of the 
matter. “You ought to be glad that he is no longer 
here; it is much happier for you.” 

Ernestine’s head drooped. “ Oh, I am not longing for 
my father who is dead ; I want a father to love me.” 

“ You have an uncle who loves you fondly, my child, 
said Leuthold. 

“ Uncle,” the little girl began again after a short pause, 
“ how did the first people get here ? Every one has a 
father and mother ; but the first men could not have had 
any. Where did they come from?” 

Leuthold and Heim exchanged glances of surprise. 

“Ah, now you are going to the very root of the mat- 
ter, prying into the deepest mysteries of creation I” said 
her uncle with a smile. 

“ There is stuff for a scholar in the child,” said Heim ; 
“ she must be educated.” 

“ Most certainly !” cried Leuthold with unwonted vi- 
vacity ; “ something must be made of her. In two years 
she will read Darwin.” And he became lost in reverie. 

Heim plucked two pansies that were growing among 
the weeds, and handed them to Ernestine. “Don’t 
trouble your little brain with such thoughts,” he said 
with an attempt to laugh. “ When you are grown up 
you can learn all you wish to know. How few flowers 
you have here I Not enough for a nosegay 1” 

“ No matter for that, Herr Heim,” said Ernestine gaily. 
“Although there are so few flowers here, it seems to me 
as lovely as Paradise.” 

“ The child is imaginative,” Heim observed to Leuthold. 
“ She finds Paradise in a neglected kitchen-garden ; there 
is poetry there.” And he pointed to her head and heart. 

Leuthold took the child’s hand. “ If you wish for 
flowers, my darling, you shall have them. You are now” 
— and a spasmodic smile hovered upon his lips — “ so rich 
that you need deny yourself nothing.” 

9* 


102 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ I am rich I” Ernestine repeated, as thougl she could 
not grasp the idea. Does the chair in whicl/ I am sit- 
ting belong to me 

“ Most certainly.” 

“ And this garden, and the fields?” 

“ Everything that you see.” 

“ Oh, how delightful 1 But, uncle, have I money enough 
to buy me a telescope like yours ?” 

Leuthold looked surprised at this question “ Is that 
the end and aim of your desires? Well, then, you shall 
have a far better one than mine. You shall have an ob- 
servatory, whence you can search the heavens far and 
wide, and, if you choose, I will be your teacher. Would 
you like that ?” 

“ Oh, uncle I” sighed Ernestine, “ God is so kind to 
me — how shall I thank him for all he is giving me ?” 

An ugly smile appeared on Leuthold’s face ; she looked 
up at him in surprise, and so fixedly that he involuntarily 
turned aside. 

It was strange 1 Why had her uncle smiled at those 
words. Was what she had said so stupid, then? Was he 
laughing at her, or at — what ? Suddenly there was an 
alloy in her happiness, as if she had found an ugly worm in 
a fragrant rose or discovered a flaw in a clear mirror. A 
pang shot through her heart. Yes, little Kay in the 
story-book must have felt just so when a splinter of the 
evil mirror got into his eye and heart and nothing seemed 
perfect or stainless to him any more. Instinctively she 
looked up into the sky, as if to see the demon flying there 
with the mysterious mirror that cast scorn and contempt 
upon the works of the good God ; and when she glanced 
again at her uncle, who had just smiled so disagreeably, 
be seemed to her to look as she had fancied an evil spirit 
must look, and she shrank from him in a way that she 
could not herself comprehend. She leaned back in her 
chair exhausted, to rest after all these wearisome thoughts 
that had chased one another through her brain, and Heim, 
observing this, took Leuthold aside; she heard him say, 
“ Come, we will leave the child to take a little sleep.” 

Rieka sat down quietly upon the bench beside her. Er- 
nestine nestled comfortably among the yielding cushions, 


OR A PHYSIC IAN FOR THE SOUL, 


103 


and the fragrant breeze stroked her cheek like a gentle, 
caressing hand. The birds were softjy twittering in 
the boughs overhead. All nature breathed in her ear ; 
“ Sleep, sleep on the tender breast of the youthful day. 
Rest! you are not yet rested, after all that you have suf- 
fered !” And she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but 
she could not. Why had her uncle smiled when she 
spoke of God ? This question kept her awake, and 
scared away rest from her trusting, childish soul. 

Meanwhile Heim and Leuthold walked on through the 
garden. “ Herr Professor,” the former began to his com- 
panion, who was lost in thought, “ 1 must speak with 
you about the future of our protegA I have plans for 
her, depending upon you for their fulfilment.” Leuthold 
looked at him attentively. “ 1 had a desire,” Heim con- 
tinued, “the first time I saw this strange child, to adopt 
her for my own ; and this desire has become stronger since 
chance has brought me into such intimate association with 
her. My request of you now is : Abdicate — not your 
rights, but — your duties as her guardian in my favour, 
and let me take her to the capital with me, and have her 
educated and trained so that full justice may be done to 
her physical and mental capacities.” 

Leuthold was silent for a few moments, and then said 
with some hesitation, as he drew a long strip of grass 
through his slender white fingers, “ That looks, Herr 
Geheimrath, as if you did not give me credit for the 
ability or the will to educate my ward suitably.” 

Heim shrugged his shoulders im{)atiently. “There 
shall be no wire drawing between us, Herr Gleissert ; we 
both know what we think of each other, and a physician 
has no time to waste in complimental speeches. Be kind 
enough to signify to me, as briefly and decidedly as pos- 
sible, your acceptance or refusal of my proposal.” 

“ Well, then,” Leuthold replied with a keen glance, “ I 
must reply to you with a brief and decided ‘ No 1’ ” 

“ Indeed !” was all that Heirn in his chagrin rejoined. 

“ Look you, Herr Geheimrath,” Leuthold began after 
some moments of reflection; “I will be frank with you. 
“ You know the dark stain that sullies my past, and the 
fault of my nature, — ambition. But, for all that, Herr 


104 


ONLY A OIRL; 


Geheimrath, I am not heartless I In my childhood I 
was repelled on all sides, just as Ernestine has been. I 
was always cast in the shade by Hartwich, the son of 
my wealthy step-mother. You, as a student of human 
nature, well know what power there is in early surround- 
ings to mould a man’s future, — perhaps this may make 
you more lenient to my faults. Neither affection nor 
interest was shown me, and so kindly feelings faded away 
within me, — I could not give what I never received. 
Thus, Herr Geheimrath, I grew up an embittered, hard- 
ened man. The severity and sternness with which I was 
treated caused me to cultivate a sort of plausibility that 
won me friends, although I had no qualities to enable me 
to retain them. Therefore I was accounted a flatterer 
and a hypocrite. But the worst of all was, I was never 
taught the nice distinction between honours and honour, 
and thus it was that, in my blind grasp after honours, I 
sacrificed my honour I” He covered his eyes with his 
hand and paused for a moment. Old Heim shook his 
huge head, vexed with himself for the emotion of sym- 
pathy that he coidd not suppress. 

“My step-mother,” Leuthold continued, “was an im- 
perious, masculine woman, who tyrannized over her hus- 
band and made him as unhappy as her son and step-son. 
You have seen the effect of her training upon Hartwich, — 
he became a drunkard, sinning in the flesh; I, of a less 
sensual nature, sinned in spirit!” 

“ Forgive me for interrupting you,” Heim interposed 
here ; “ but I am constrained to observe that if you had 
sinned no further than in robbing poor Hilsborn of his 
discovery, you would indeed have coveted only spiritual 
things, and there might have been some excuse for you; 
but you longed for earthly possessions, — you even grasped 
after the property of the poor child who has been left to 
your care. Judge for yourself whether such a helpless 
little creature can be confided without anxiety to the 
charge of a guardian who has not scrupled to endeavour 
to possess himself of her inheritance !” 

Leuthold stood confronting Heim, without betraying, 
by a single change of feature, the emotions of his mind. 
“ Herr Geheimrath,” he said with dignity, “ 1 under- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


105 


stand perfectly how all that must appear to a stranger 
entirely unacquainted with the circumstances of the case, 
and I cannot wonder that you think your accusation of 
me well founded. So be it. I did endeavour to possess 
myself of Hartwich’s property, for two-thirds of it were 
mine by right. Are you aware, Herr Geheimrath, that 
when I first took my place in the factory here, Hartwich 
was on the brink of bankruptcy? Are you aware that 
entirely through my exertions the business is now free 
from debt, and that the income which in the course of 
ten years made Hartwich a wealthy man was the result 
solely of my improvements ? He contributed nothing 
but the raw material, which my efforts converted into a 
means of wealth. Had I not a sacred right to the fruits 
of my exertions 

Again the Geheimrath shrugged his shoulders and did 
not speak. 

“ Time is money,” Leuthold continued ; “ and I frankly 
admit that I do not belong to the class of men who give 
without any hope of a return. I am a poor man, com- 
pelled to depend upon myself I receive nothing gratui- 
tously ; why should I give anything ? Hartwich owed me 
for the time I sacrificed to him. I do not claim too much 
when I aver that, with my capacity, I could have earned 
three thousand thalers yearly as the superintendent of 
any other extensive manufactory, while I received from 
Hartwich the small salary of a mere overseer. And three 
thousand thalers yearly amount in ten years to thirty 
thousand thalers, without counting the interest. There 
you have one-third of the property that I ‘coveted.’” 

Heim assented with an expression of surprise. 

Leuthold continued more fluently: “ Now for the re- 
maining third. The man who is capable of introducing 
inventions and improvements into the establishment, 
producing in ten years a clear profit of ninety thousand 
thalers, can easily dispose of such inventions for twenty 
thousand thalers j and if I add the accumulated interest 
of ten years, it amounts to exactly thirty thousand thalers 
again. If my step-brother had paid me this sum, he would 
still have possessed thirty thousand thalers clear, which 
would have belonged of right to his daughter. I might 


]05 


ONLY A OIRL; 


have offered my services elsewhere, but it seemed to me 
more fitting that I should serve my brother than a 
stranger; I might have insisted upon payment, but I 
knew well my brother’s avarice, and that it would be im- 
possible to extort money from him except at the risk of 
such excitement on his part as might cost him his life. 
Therefore I thought it best, as 1 foresaw that he could 
not live long, to suspend my claims and allow him to 
devise to me by will what was really my due. How ut- 
terly I have been the loser by my — I do not scruple to 
say — magnanimous- conduct, you well know; and now 
pray point out wherein I have unjustly claimed a single 
groschen !” 

Heim, his hands crossed behind him and his head sunk 
upon his breast, walked slowly along by the side of 
Leuthold, whose slender figure had recovered all its for- 
mer elasticity as he easily wound his way among the 
tangled bushes and weeds in the neglected path. 

“ I cannot tell how a lawyer would designate your 
conduct,” the old man said meditatively. “ I should not 
call it magnanimous ; but you may be able to justify it 
from your point of view. Still, one never knows what to 
expect of such long-headed, calculating people.” 

“Yes, Herr Geheimrath, it is the destiny of those who 
depend upon themselves alone for whatever of good 
life may bring them, to be regarded as covetous, — they 
must grasp after what falls unsought for into the lap of 
others. In this matter I not only did what I could for 
myself, but for the future also. Herr Geheimrath, I am 
a father I” 

“ Yes, yes ; but you were not a father at the time that 
you arranged with Hartwich his testamentary disposi- 
tions,” Heim briefly interposed. 

“ Only two months afterwards my wife gave birth to 
a dead son. From the fir&t moment when I dreamed of 
one day possessing a child for whom I could prepare a 
future, I cherished a determination to hold fast to what- 
ever was mine by right. I think you cannot refuse to 
bear witness that I have endured the destruction of all 
my hopes with fortitude. My wife has left me, refusing 
to share with me my cheerless future. I stand alone 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


lot 


with my helpless child. You have beard no word of 
complaint from my lips. Examine yourself, and your 
upright nature will compel you to acknowledge that I 
do not deserve your distrust. And now, as regards the 
last and weightiest consideration, — my relation to my 
ward, — ask any one whom you may please to interrogate 
here, whether I have not always been Ernestine’s advo- 
cate and protector. Every servant in the house — the 
child herself — will tell you that it has been so. Upon 
this point my conscience cannot accuse me. For, look 
you, Herr Geheimrath, this child is the only living being 
in this world, besides my own daughter, whom I have 
to love. There is one spot in my nature, hardened as it 
is by the rough usage of life, that has always remained 
soft, — the memory of my unhappy childhood. In Ernes- 
tine I am reminded of my own early youth, and there is 
a tender satisfaction in providing her with so much that 
at her age I was obliged to deny myself Leave me this 
child, Herr Geheimrath; I am a poor, unhappy, disap- 
pointed man. Do not take from me the last thing that 
stirs the better nature within me, — it would be too hard !’’ 

Heim stood still for an instant, and seemed about to 
speak. He bethought himself and walked on a few steps, 
then paused again : The case is not psychologically im- 
probable. You may feel as you say, and you may invent 
it all. What guarantee have I for its truth ?” 

“ I am sorry to say, none, if you do not find it in the 
honesty of my confession. But, Herr Geheimrath, by 
what right — pardon me — do you require such a guar- 
antee from me ?” 

“ My anxiety for the child’s welfare, I should suppose, 
would be allowed to give me such a right, — a right that, 
if you are not dead to human feeling, you would respect 
even although it has no legal grounds.” 

“ Oh, certainly, certainly, — 1 do respect it, and thank 
you for your interest in the child. But I cannot deny 
that your persistent distrust of me surprises me exceed- 
ingly, and prompts me to force you by my conduct to a 
better opinion of me.” 

“ That is, you will let me have the child ?” Heim asked 
quickly. 


108 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ That is, I am more determined than ever to under- 
take the charge of her education myself, that I may one 
day convince you of the injustice that you are doing me.’^ 

. 'Heim regarded the smiling speaker with a penetrating 
glance. “ You rely upon the fact that I can legally urge 
nothing against you. Well, then, I can do no more. I 
confide the fate of this strange child, who has become so 
dear to me, to a loving Providence, that will watch over 
her and over you, sir, however you may contrive to with- 
draw yourself and your designs from the eye of human 
scrutiny.” 

As Heim spoke these words, the two gentlemen reached 
Ernestine’s chair. The little girl sat perfectly still, lost 
in thought. Her uncle laid his hand upon her white 
forehead, and said to himself, “ 1 will keep you 1” 

On the evening of the same day, Leuthold sat before 
his writing-table at the open windows. The cool night 
air made the flame of the lamp flicker behind its green 
shade. From the adjoining room came the low sound 
of the plaintive air with which the nursemaid was sooth- 
ing little Gretchen to sleep. A cricket upon the window- 
sill chirped continually, and a singed moth would now 
and then fall upon the white, unwritten sheet that lay 
on the table before Leuthold. It was a calm, mild, 
autumn night, — a night when darkness hides the yellow 
leaves and one can dream that it is still summer. And 
yet the solitary man sat there gazing into vacancy, with 
as little sympathy with nature as though he had been 
banished utterly from her communion. In the corner of 
the window-frame there fluttered a large cobweb, and its 
proprietor was lying in wait for the insects that were 
attracted by the lamp. But the man’s brain was weaving 
still finer webs in the stillness of night, and in the midst 
of them lurked the ugly spider of greed of gold, also lying 
in wait for prey. Ernestine must be ensnared ; but she 
had protectors who were upon the watch. No human 
being must suspect that her guardian was her worst 
enemy. 

The will had been opened, and two clauses in it had 
given Leuthold renewed life and hope. He was Ernes- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


109 


tine’s guardian, — and her heir in case of her dying un- 
married. By the time that his light began to fade, he 
had laid all his plans, and arose from his seat with the 
feeling of satisfaction experienced by an author who has 
just thought out successfully the plot of a new work. 
Ernestine was no more to him than a character in a novel 
is to its author, — a character which is indispensable to the 
plot, and which the author treats with care as a necessary 
evil, but never with affection. Thus he had planned 
with great precision the child’s future; and, unless he 
utterly failed in his designs, the figure that now hovered 
before his imagination would greatly conduce to the 
successful conclusion of the romance for his child and 
himself. 

The lamp died down. Leuthold slipped out upon tip- 
toe, and, undressing in the next room in the dark, lay 
down in the bed beside which stood Gretchen’s crib. 
Soon after the child awoke, and stretched out her hands 
towards her father. He drew her towards him, and 
laid her head upon his breast, that was chilled as 
though from the influence of his own icy heart. She 
nestled up to him, and put her little arms around his 
neck. He listened to her quiet breathing as she fell 
calmly asleep again, and gradually his own heart grew 
warm beside hers, beating there so peacefully. He scarcely 
ventured to breathe himself, for fear of wakening her. It 
was a happy moment for him. Upon the breath of the 
slumbering child an ineffable delight was wafted into his 
soul. He held in his arms the only being whom he loved 
and who really loved him, — his child, his own flesh and 
blood ! Suddenly there was a loud knocking at his door, 
and Rieka’s shrill voice cried, “Herr Doctor I Herr Doc- 
tor 1 pray get up quickly and come to Ernestine I” 

Leuthold started up and gently laid the child in her 
crib again. Every nerve in his body vibrated, his heart 
beat wildly, and his hands trembled as he dressed him- 
self hurriedly. Something extraordinary must have oc- 
curred: was Ernestine worse? — perhaps dying? Was 
fate to atone so soon for Hartwich’s injustice ? Were his 
hopes to be — the thought made him giddy, breathless, 

10 


no 


ONLY A GIRL; 


and, almost tottering, he reached the door where Rieka 
was waiting to light him down the stairs. 

“What is the matter ?” he asked. 

“ Oh, Herr Doctor, it is our fault,” Rieka began : “ The- 
resa and 1 were sitting by Ernestine’s bedside and talking ; 
we thought she was sound asleep, we were talking about 
master who is dead ; and we told about the dairy-maid’s 
refusing to sleep in the barn-loft anymore, because she says 
he walks. And we spoke of his death, how he called for 
his child, and declared that he could not find rest in his 
grave if Ernestine did not forgive him. And we said we 
were sure that he would appear to her some day, for when 
any one dies with such a burden on his soul, there is no rest 
for him until he has the forgiveness that he craves. Then 
Ernestine suddenly began to cry, and we saw that she 
had heard everything. We tried to quiet her, but she 
grew worse and worse, and nothing would content her 
but that she must be taken this very night to the church- 
yard, to her father’s grave, that she might forgive him. 
We can do nothing with her ; she insists upon it ; she is 
almost in convulsions with crying and obstinacy I” 

They entered Ernestine’s room, where Theresa, the 
other maid, was trying to keep the struggling, desperate 
child in bed. Leuthold went softly up to her, and laid 
his cool, delicate hand upon her burning forehead. His 
touch soothed her; she became quiet, and looked up at 
her uncle with a piteous entreaty in her large eyes. 

“ Leave me alone with her,” he said to the servants, 
who obeyed with a mutter of discontent. He then 
trimmed the night-lamp so that it burned brightly, and 
seated himself beside Ernestine’s couch. “ My child,” he 
began, in his low, melodious voice, “you are quite clever 
enough to understand what I am going to say to you, but 
you must promise me that you will never repeat it to any 
human being. Do you promise ?” 

“ Oh, I will promise, uncle,” sobbed Ernestine, “if you 
will only help me to let my poor father know that I for- 
give him, — oh, with all my heart ! — and that my head is 
well again, and does not hurt me any more ! Oh, my 
poor, poor father, — your little Ernestine wants so to tell 
you that she is not angry with you ; but she cannot I” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


111 


‘‘You are a good child, Ernestine, but you are only a 
child !” Leuthold continued, while the same strange smile 
that had so troubled Ernestine in the morning again 
played around his mouth. She looked up in surprise. 
Was what she had said so foolish again ? 

“ You are too clever, young as you are, to be allowed 
to fall into the vulgar belief shared by the maids ; and 
therefore I must tell you what it would not be best for 
them to know, — that the dead do not live in any form 
whatever.” 

Ernestine started, and gazed at her uncle. — “ What ?” 

“ Yes, yes ; I tell you truly, whoever is dead is dead ; 
that means, he has ceased to be ; he neither feels nor 
thinks ; a few bones are all that there is of him ; and they 
are good for nothing but to convert into lime or manure 
for the fields.” 

Ernestine hearkened breathless to his words. “But 
where then are the spirits, uncle ?” 

“ There are no spirits.” 

“ Then shall we never go to heaven ?” 

“ Of course not; those are all fables, invented to induce 
common people to be good. They must believe in re- 
wards and punishments after death, to enable them to 
bear the trials and deprivations of their lot in life. They 
would rebel against all control, and be in perpetual mu- 
tiny, without the prospect of compensation after death. 
So there are wise philosophers in every country, com- 
posing what is called the Christian Church, who have in- 
vented many beautiful legends, — which you call the Bible. 
Superstition is founded upon the weakness and folly of 
mankind, upon ignorance of the true law’s of nature; and 
the churches of every age and clime have used it as the 
stuflf of which they have made leading-strings for the 
people. But the educated man, breathing only a pure, 
intellectual atmosphere, is free from such fetters. Science 
leads him with a loving hand to heights whence she 
points out to him the natural laws of the universe, and, in 
place of the prop of which she deprives him, gives him 
strength to stand alone.” 

Ernestine was ashy pale; her lips moved, but no sound 
issued from them ; she clenched her hands, and felt as if 


112 


ONLY A GIRL; 


crushed by some terrible, unheard-of mystery. She could 
hardly bear to listen to what her uncle was saying, and 
yet she caught greedily at every word ; she could not bear 
to believe him, and yet she could not but distrust, now, 
what the pastor had taught her. She was ashamed not 
to be as clever as her uncle had called her : the poison 
that he had instilled into her mind worked quickly. 

“But, uncle, can what so many people believe be all 
false? Old people and children, kings and emperors, beg- 
gars and rich men, all go to church: — is there any one 
except you who does not go ?” 

Leuthold laughed louder than was his wont. “It is 
easy enough to answer you, dear child. In the first place, 
there are multitudes of men besides myself who belong to 
no church. In the second place, the number of people 
who profess to believe a creed is no proof of its truth, but 
only of the ignorance and narrow-mindedness of those 
professing such belief. Millions of men have been pan- 
theists, and counted all those who did not share their 
faith criminal. Every religion condemns all others as 
erroneous. Which is right? As long as all were ignorant 
of the causes of the mighty and glorious operations of 
nature, these were ascribed to supernatural agencies and 
regarded as revelations of the divine. Thunder and 
lightning, light and air, all were governed, according 
to the ancients, as among savages at the present day, 
by their own several deities ; every natural event was 
ascribed to some being, half man, half god; and thus 
heaven and earth were peopled with good and evil spirits, 
friendly or hostile to mankind. This superstition fled at 
the approach of science, or at least it became weakened, — 
etherialized. With increasing knowledge of natural laws, 
the sensual gods of Greece and Rome lost form and sub- 
stance, and finally vanished, to be replaced by a true ap- 
preciation of the elements as such, and a faith in a cen- 
tral Providence ruling all things wisely and well. This 
is a great improvement; but it is not enough. We still 
have a Trinity, — a Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; we still 
have angels, demons, and saints, — a multitude of good and 
evil deities, who have followed us down from old pagan 
times, and who, although more respectably apparelled, are 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


113 


still prepared to work all kinds of miracles. The more 
fully the laws of matter are laid bare to our searching eyes, 
the dimmer grows our religious belief, — as the shadow, 
which in the darkness we have taken for the substance 
itself, fades before the first ray of sunlight, which reveals 
the substance distinctly. The various gods of all ages 
and climes were only the shadows cast by the operation 
of natural laws; as soon as the light of science fell upon 
them, they vanished. Thus, religious fancy was driven 
away from this physical world, as the laws ruling it were 
discovered, and obliged to seek a more abstract domain ; 
but even there it is not secure ; for scientific inquiry, 
climbing from height to height, and gaining in vigour 
with every fresh advance, long ago began to follow it 
thither ; and it must consent to still greater concessions, if 
it would not be driven from its last foothold, — its self- 
created heaven I” 

Leuthold paused. Ernestine's vague look of wonder 
reminded him that his habit of speech had carried him 
too far for the comprehension of a child. Nevertheless, 
it excited him to hear his own voice speaking thus once 
more, and his gray eyes glittered strangely as he ob- 
served the effect of his words, -only half understood as 
they were, upon Ernestine. 

“ Has the pastor told me falsehoods, then?” she asked 
at last. 

“ He did not lie intentionally. He is a very narrow- 
minded man, and knows no better. He is not one of the 
deceivers, but of the deceived.” 

“ But he is the wisest man in the village,” Ernestine 
objected. 

“ In the village, yes I But do you think him wiser 
than your uncle ?” 

“ No, certainly not I” she whispered almost inaudibly. 
It seemed to her a crime to think a common man wiser 
than the pastor. 

“ Well, then, let me tell you that he is not nearly as 
clever as you are I” 

“Uncle !” exclaimed Ernestine alarmed. 

“I tell you the truth, my child. You are now very 
young ; but, when you are as old as the pastor, you will 
• 10 * 


114 


ONLY A GIRL; 


know much more than he does, and take a very different 
view of things.’^ 

“Are you in earnest, uncle V- Ernestine asked eagerly, 
for this first flattery had not failed in its effect. “ Do you 
think I can ever be as clever as a man 

“Most certainly I Unless I greatly err, you will be 
something distinguished, one of these days 1” 

Ernestine sat bolt upright in bed, looking at her uncle 
with sparkling eyes. Her pale face flushed, her breath 
came quick. Ambition kindled in her childish nature to 
a burning flame. The fuel had been gathering there since 
her first contact with those who had treated her with 
contempt. Now the spark had fallen, and she was all 
aglow with the insidious fire which gradually consumes 
the whole being unless some terrible misfortune bursts 
open the floodgates of tears to quench the unhallowed 
flame. 

Leuthold gazed, not without secret admiration and 
delight, at the illuminated and inspired countenance of 
the child. Thus, thus he would have her look 1 He 
leaned towards her, and held out his hand. She grasped 
it fervently. 

“Uncle,” she said with childish emphasis, “will you 
help me to be as clever and to learn as much as a man ? 
Will you teach me the sciences which you said would 
make men so strong ?” 

“Yes,” replied Leuthold with seeming enthusiasm, “I 
will, indeed.” 

“Promise me, dear uncle.” 

“ I promise you with all my heart that I will teach 
you as 'no woman has ever been taught before, — that I 
will guide and direct you until you have soared far above 
the rest of your sex. But you must be diligent, and dis- 
card all desires but the desire of knowledge.” 

“ Oh, I will, dearest uncle. Why should I not ? What 
else can I wish for ? I do not want to play with other 
children, — they laugh at me. I am too ugly and grave 
for them. I will live alone, and learn with you ; and 
one day, when I know more than they, 1 will shame 
them. Oh, that will be fine 1” 

“But I hope, my child, that you will remember your 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


115 


promise, and not tell any one what I have said to you 
to-night.” 

“Not any one ? not even Herr Heim ?” 

“ Not for the world. If I should find that you cannot 
hold your tongue, I will teach you nothing, and you will 
be as ignorant as those who laugh at you.” 

“No, uncle, I will never tell anything; I will not, 
indeed 1” Ernestine cried. “ But tell me one thing, — are 
there really no angels, then ?” ■ 

“Angels !” and her uncle smiled. “ Of what use has 
been all that I have just said to you, if you can seriously 
ask such a question ?” 

“ Then I have no guardian angel !” said the child, and 
her eyes filled with tears. “ And I loved my guardian 
angel so dearly I” 

“My child,” replied Leuthold, “you are your own 
guardian angel. Your own strong mind will shield you 
from all danger far better than any such imaginary crea- 
ture with wings.” 

Ernestine was silent. She must take care of herself, 
then. But she felt so weak and broken ; how should she 
be supported unless she could lean upon some higher 
power? No guardian angel, no father, no mother, not 
even their spirits I It seemed to her that she was sud- 
denly standing alone, without prop or stay, upon a 
rocky peak, with a yawning abyss just at her feet. The 
moment would come when she must fall headlong. Then 
there arose before her the last hope of the soul in utter 
misery, — God 1 He was all in all, — Father and guardian 
spirit ; He was love ; He would not forsake her. Though 
all else that she had believed in crumbled to dust, He still 
remained; she would cling to Him with redoubled fer- 
vour. She looked up at her uncle ; should she tell him 
her thoughts? Nol She could not speak that sacred name 
before Leuthold ; she dreaded the smile she had seen in 
the morning, — she could not tell why. 

Her uncle then spoke, and the last drop of poison fell 
into her soul. “ We have in ourselves everything that 
modern religion has created outside of ourselves,” he 
began. “Angels, devils, God — ” Ernestine started and 
shrank, — “ these are all only personifications of our good 


116 


ONLY A GIRL; 


and evil qualities. It is only the boundless self-conceit of 
mankind that imagines that the grain of reason that dis- 
tinguishes them from the brutes is something entirely 
beyond the power of nature to produce, — something su- 
pernatural, immortal, divine, — and that there must be, 
enthroned somewhere above the universe, an omnipotent 
being, who is in direct communication with us and has 
nothing to do but to busy himself with our very important 
personal affairs 1 This belief in God, with all its apparent 
humility and submission, is the veriest offspring of the van- 
ity and arrogance of mankind, and all worship of God, my 
child, is, in fact, only worship of self. True humility is to 
acknowledge that we are no ‘ emanation from the Divine 
Essence,’ as theosophists phrase it, but only nature’s mas- 
terpieces, and that we can claim no higher destiny than 
that common to the myriad forms of being that bear 
their part in the universal whole.” 

Ernestine had sunk back among her pillows, — she felt 
annihilated ; there was no longer any God for her ! 

Her uncle arose, for two o’clock had just been tolled 
from the belfry of the village church. He did not fail to 
observe the terrible impression that his words had made 
upon Ernestine. He took her hand ; she withdrew it 
from his grasp. He smiled. “You are sorry, are you 
not, to give up everything that your childish mind has 
believed in so firmly ? I can easily understand it. But, Er- 
nestine, your powers of mind are too great to allow you to 
find consolation for any length of time in such delusions. 
Be sure that sooner or later you would have extricated 
yourself from such bondage, as the expanding flower throws 
off the confining hull. You have been ill, and your physical 
weakness has depressed your mental energy ; but, when 
you are well and strong again, you will rejoice proudly 
in the consciousness that you are a free, irresponsible 
being, not dependent upon the will and the doubtful jus- 
tice of a fancied Jehovah. Study yourself, my child ; 
in yourself lies your future. Believe in yourself, and 
plant your hopes deeply in your faith in yourself. I will 
leave you now to sleep ; and I am sure that to-morrow 
I shall find you a little philosopher.” 

Long after her uncle had left the room and Rieka bad 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. HY 

retired upon tiptoe to bed in the adjoining apartment, fully 
convinced that her charge was sleeping, Ernestine was 
wide awake. She lay perfectly motionless, as if shat- 
tered in every limb. She stirred for the first time when 
Rieka had extinguished the light, so that no ray came 
through the open door. Then the child drew a deep 
breath, and stretched her arms out into the darkness as if 
to clasp the forms of her vanished faith ; but her arms 
encountered only the empty air. There was no more 
pitiable creature upon earth than she at that moment. 
What is left for a child without father or mother, who 
has lost her guardian angel and her God ? She is a bird 
fallen from the nest, stripped by cruelty of its wings and 
left living on the ground. The child’s foreboding soul, 
precociously matured by misfortune, felt the entire weight 
of her desolation ; and she hid her face in the pillow, that 
Rieka might not hear the convulsive sobs wrung from 
the depths of her misery. The tears which she poured 
forth for her vanished God were all that her uncle had 
left her, — the only prayer that she was capable of She 
longed to pray — but could not in words. “ He does not 
hear me 1 He does not live !”she cried to herself; and the 
hot tears burst forth again, and she wept in agony. And, 
as she wept, her heart grew soft and tender, and as the 
Crucified, after he had been laid in the tomb, was pres- 
ent invisibly among his disciples, so the God who had 
just been buried away from her mind came to life again 
in her heart; she did not hear nor see him, but she felt 
his presence, and it gave her strength to pray. She kneeled 
in her bed, folded her hands, and cried inwardly : “ Dear 
God, let me keep my belief in Thee — if Thou art and 
canst hear me — ” — that terrible “if” intruded. She 
paused to ponder upon it. And then there was an end 
to her fervent prayer, and God vanished again. 

Thus the struggle between faith and doubt continued 
feverishly, and her soul thirsted for love as did her 
parched lips for water. Where was there a kind, gentle 
hand to offer her a cooling draught, and with it the kiss 
that should refresh her thirsty soul,— such a hand as only 
a mother has? Ernestine gazed out into the darkness. 
Her breath came in gasps, her heart beat audibly, but 


118 


ONLY A GIRL; 


no more kindly tears came to her burning eyes. “ O 
God 1 my God 1 why hast thou forsaken me?” was the last 
moan of her tortured heart ; and then she sank into a 
feverish slumber. 


CHAPTER YII. 

DEPARTURE. 

The autumnal gales had stripped the leaves from the 
trees; the tall 6rs in the forest, bordering the spacious 
brown fields of the Hartwich estate, were the only green 
on the landscape. Over the cheerless desert plain wan- 
dered a lonely little figure, pale and sad as Heine’s Last 
Fairy. Ernestine had so far recovered that she was once 
more able to brave the autumn wind. She extended her 
arms, and could not help imagining that they might be- 
come wings, that would bear her far, far aloft. She knew 
it could never really be so ; but the thought was so de- 
lightful 1 Up, up, far away from the earth, — it was so 
sad upon the earth. She was a stranger here, and she 
felt that her home must be elsewhere. In heaven? Oh, 
there was no heaven; but in the air — at least, in the air. 
And she ran on — ran as fast as she could — and her heart 
throbbed with excitement as the wind whistled in her 
ears and tossed her clothes about, and her hair. 

An insatiable yearning — she knew not for what — had 
driven her out of the house — she knew not whither. 
There was nothing for her to crave for, and yet she could 
not help it. She thought she should die of longing! 
She wished she could dissolve into foam, like the little 
mermaid, that the daughters of the air might bear her 
aloft into endless space ! And she stood still and gazed 
up into the gray clouds, and took a long breath. There 
was no longer anything there for her to aspire to, and she 
had not yet learned to look within. One vast void around 
and above her, and forth into this immense void she was 
driven! 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


119 


At last she reached the woods, and stood beneath the 
dark firs, in whose boughs the wind was wildly roaring. 
It was the last time that she should stand thus among 
these familiar scenes, for on the following day she was 
to set out with her uncle for the south, that she might 
escape the northern winter. She was sorry, for she 
clung to her home, bleak as it had been. She must have 
something to cling to! She had looked forward with 
pleasure to the ice and snow ; the glittering form of the 
snow-queen in the fairy book — the creature of Andersen’s 
Northern fanc}^ — had transfigured winter for her. Like 
little Kay, she had lost all delight in life, and, like him, 
she was perplexed in spirit at the word “eternity.” But 
she could not help loving the winter and the solitude of 
her retired home. She walked on fearlessly, beneath the 
whistling of the wind, deeper and deeper into the forest, 
until, without knowing how, she emerged on the other 
side, and stood under the oak where she had first seen 
Johannes. The bough, now entirely dead, which had 
broken beneath her when she was trying to escape from 
him, still hung there. There, too, was the S}iot where he 
had given her the book — the wonderful book — that had 
peopled her fancy with such lovely forms. And yet that 
interview with Johannes seemed in her memory far more 
like enchantment than any fairy-tale, and she stood still, 
sunk in a reverie, until a furious blast of wind tore at the 
boughs of the majestic tree as if it longed to tear it down 
and scatter its fragments through the forest. With a 
crash, the broken bough, only attached hitherto to the 
trunk by a slender hold, was hurled to the ground, and 
the wind wailed on through the bare branches in the 
forest depths. Ernestine looked up startled. The 
boughs rustled and creaked, and the scared ravens flew 
croaking hither and thither. Again the blast swept howl- 
ing across the plain, slowly, but with a mighty swell in 
its roar, towards the wood, and again it stormed and 
raved in its first fury about the isolated oak, which 
trembled and shook to its centre. But Ernestine was 
startled only for an instant; she was used to the blasts 
of a northern October, and she took delight in this wild 
might of nature. It was almost as if she herself were 


120 


ONLY A GIRL; 


shaking the tree, and splitting its branches with her own 
hands. The exultation of a Titan in the breast of a crea- 
ture woven as it were out of moonlight and lily-leaves I 
Only a divinely-related spirit could have had such 
thoughts in so delicate a form, — a spirit that fraternized 
with the elements, and, in an intoxication of delight, 
forgot the frail casket in which it was confined. 

Singing strange, wild songs, the child, with her wonted 
agility, climbed the tree that had grown so dear to 
her, and cradled herself exultingly amid its tossing 
branches. She ascended to the topmost boughs, and 
gazed far over forest and plain ; and the more the creaking 
branches were tossed to and fro as she clung to them, 
the wilder grew her delight. It was almost flying — to 
hover, thus hidden, above the earth ! She kissed the 
bough by which she held, and as she saw the young 
branches breaking here and there beneath her, and the 
hurricane raged so that it almost took away her breath, 
she looked up with inspired eyes, and whispered involun- 
tarily, “ It is the breath of God 1” Suddenly she distin- 
guished a sound as of human footsteps, and a shout came 
up through the roar of the blast. She thought of the 
handsome stranger youth ! Could it be he — come to 
take her down from the tree? An inexplicable mixture 
of joy and dread took possession of her. Was it he ? 
Would he stretch out his arms to her again ? But it was 
not he. A chill struck to her heart, and a shade gathered 
over the landscape. It was her uncle ! “ Ernestine,” he 

called to her, “ thoughtless child ! How you terrify me I 
Running to the woods and climbing trees in such a storm ! 
You might kill yourself! Come down, I entreat you 1” 

“Let me stay here, uncle; I like it so much I” Ernes- 
tine begged. 

“ I must seriously desire you to come with me. What 
would people say if I allowed you to be out in such 
weather ? Be good enough to do as I tell 3mu.” 

Ernestine cast one more silent glance over her beloved 
forest, and then, with a saddened face, began to descend. 
When she reached the spot where the bou xh had been 
broken, and whence Johannes had rescued her, she broke 
off a couple of withered leaves, hid them in her dress. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


121 


and slipped down the trunk lightly as a shadow. She 
turned to her uncle. All her delight had vanished ; she 
was upon the earth once more, and her uncle’s cold, keen 
eye disenchanted her utterly. Her look was downcast ; 
she felt almost ashamed. If he knew that she had just 
been thinking of God, he would despise her. But why 
could she believe in God again while she was up there, 
and not when she was down here with her uncle? 

She walked on without a word by Leuthold’s side, 
glancing neither to the right nor the left, never heeding 
how the wind was well-nigh tearing her dress from her 
back. She did not want to fly any more, — she longed for 
nothing ; — when her uncle was by, she was ashamed of 
every emotion. When she came to the place where the 
path leading to her home diverged from the road to the 
village, she asked permission of Leuthold to go and say 
farewell at the parsonage. After some hesitation, he 
granted it, and went on alone. Ernestine hurried along 
the well-known road. The village children shouted after 
her, “ Halloo, there goes Hartwich’s Tina, — proud Tina, 
with the whey face !” She paid no heed to them, — she 
felt herself above the jeers of such creatures. With a 
beating heart she reached the parsonage ; then she sud- 
denly stood still. What did she want here? To bid 
good-by to the pastor and his wife ! But if the good 
old man should admonish her to love and fear God, as he 
was so apt to do ? Or if he should ask her if she be- 
lieved in God? What should she, — what could she 
answer him ? Could she, doubter, apostate that she was, 
enter the presence of the servant of God without placing 
herself at the bar of judgment, or without lying? She 
stood like a penitent, not daring to enter the door which 
had been so often flung open to her. Twice she put her 
hand upon the bell-handle and did not pull it. She knew 
that the old man would be grieved if she went away 
without bidding him farewell ; but she also knew that he 
would be still more deeply pained could he guess at her 
present .«tate of mind. Perhaps he might despise her 
then ; she could not bear that ; and, just as she was 
ashamed of her faith when her uncle was with her, she 
was now ashamed of her doubts. How often bad the 

11 


122 


ONLY A GIRL; 


pastor told her it was a sin to doubt I she had committed 
— nay, was now committing — this sin. No, her guilty 
ccnscience would not let her meet his eye, or kiss the 
soft, gently folded hands of his wife. She slipped past 
the house, so that no one could see her, and went into 
the grave-yard, where it was quiet and lonely and she 
could hide her guilty little heart upon her parents’ graves. 
She knelt down beside them, and longed for tears to re- 
lieve her ; but no blessing arose from the graves over 
which no spirits hovered, but which covered, as her uncle 
Leuthold had told her, nothing but bones. And yet she 
so longed to do penance for all her doubts. “ If 1 could 
only have faith again this minute, and pray God to for- 
give me, 1 could go in and see the pastor,” she thought. 
She looked around her, not knowing what to do; — there 
was the church, and the doors were open. She would 
go into the house of God ; perhaps in that sacred place 
she might find again what she had lost. In profound 
self-abas(uuent the child entered, threw herself upon her 
knees before the altar, and closed her eyes. “ Now, now 
I can pray I” she thought; but. just as upon that terrible 
night when she was robbed of her religion and peace of 
mind, devotion seemed near her, but to be eluding her 
clasp. There lay the guiltless little penitent, her soul 
full of piety, but unable to pray, — her heart full of tears, 
but unable to weep. She sprang up in des})air. God 
was not here either. She had thought she heard him in 
the tem])est, and that the wind was his breath. — but on 
the way home her uncle had explained to her that it was 
nothing but a current of air occasioned by the change of 
temperature on the earth’s surface, or by violent showers 
of rain, and she was convinced that she had been wrong 
and that her uncle knew very much more than the ])astor. 
But if she believed her uncle, she could not believe in 
God; it was not her fault, and yet this doubt weighed 
upon her as the first crime of her life. Her trusting soul 
was like the iron that glows long after the lire in which 
it was healed is quenched ; her faith was extinguished, 
but the influence that her faith had exerted upon her 
endured and became her punishment. It began to grow 
dark; yet still she stood with head bowed and downcast 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


123 


eyes beside the wooden crucifix upon the tomb of her 
parents. The Christ who had been nailed to the cross 
for the sake of what her uncle called an illusion, seemed 
to regard her so reproachfully that she did not dare to 
look up at him ; he had shed his precious blood for the 
faith which she denied; she almost thought he would 
tear away the hand nailed to the cross and extend it in 
menace towards her. An inexplicable shudder ran through 
her ; again she fell upon her knees. 

“ Forgive, forgive I’’ she cried ; and the tears burst 
forth and relieved the icy pressure upon her heart. 

Then something grasped her shoulder and raised her 
from the ground. Was it her Uucle, or the foul fiend, 
who was standing beside her? 

“ You are here, then,’’ he sneered, “ in the dark, kneel- 
ing and weeping. Aha! I came to look for my quiet 
little philosopher, and I find a whimpering child praying 
to a wooden doll 1 Can you tell me where Ernestine 
Hartwich is ?” 

“Uncle,” cried Ernestine, driven to defiance in her 
despair, “ why do you persecute me so continually to- 
day ? Can I not be alone for one hour ? and must I 
give an account of every thought and word ? You have 
taken from me everything in which 1 confided, — you 
have come between myself and God, so that 1 dare not 
go to the pastor, but must slip round his house as if I 
were a thief. Do you think all this does not pain me, and 
that I feel no remorse ? Whatever you may teach me, I 
shall nevenbe happy again. Why did you tell me there 
were no spirits, no angels, no God ? I did not wish to 
know it. I loved God, and, however wretched I was, I 
could always hope that he would be kind and merciful to 
me; if no human being loved me, I could always think 
that he did. And now I must bear everything that 
happens to me, hoping nothing and loving nothing, — no 
one, — not even you 1” 

Leuthold smiled, and stroked Ernestine’s curls. 

“I see now that I was wrong in treating a girl 
twelve years old like a boy of twenty. Too strong nour- 
ishment will not strengthen an invalid, — he cannot bear 
it ; 1 ought to have thought of that, and not burdened 


124 


ONLY A OIRL; 


your girlish brain with so much. I can understand your 
dislike of me as the innocent cause of your mental indi* 
gestion, and forgive you for it. Pardon me for over- 
estimating your intellect, — it is my only injustice towards 
you.” 

Ernestine stood gloomily beside him, without a word ; 
he could not guess what was passing in her mind. 

“ I will leave you here, my dear child. Pray on, — you 
need fear no further disturbance. Go, kiss the feet of 
your Christ, — it will relieve your heart. Go, Ernestine; 
or are you embarrassed by my presence ? Shall I walk 
away? Well!” 

He turned as if to go ; but Ernestine held fast to his 
arm. 

“ I will go with you,” she said sullenly. “ I could 
not pray now if I tried. And I am not so stupid as you 
think me. I understood everything that you have taught 
me, and I do not believe any longer in — in — the other. 
What else do you require ? One can cry without being 
thought silly ; and I tell you I shall cry far oftener than 
I shall laugh. Oh, I shall cry all my life long!” 

And she covered her face with her hands and sobbed 
aloud. 

“ You are nervous, my child. These tears come from 
mere bodily weakness. In a few years you will smile at 
what causes them now. Do not be troubled that you 
cannot love any one, — not even me. All such childish 
things are left behind in the nursery. Whoever will be 
truly free must begin by standing alone. Every tie that 
links our heart to others, however lovable they may be, 
is a fetter. Whoever will be strong must cea.se to lean 
on others. Love knowledge alone, — all living things 
can be taken from you, and your love for them is a source 
of pain. Science is always yours, — an inexhaustible source 
of delight. Men are unjust. They will estimate you not 
according to your mental powers, but your exterior ad- 
vantages, and these are too trivial to gain their homage. 
Science gives you your deserts, — she measures her gifts 
according to your diligence. Women will envy you ; for 
your intellect will far outsoar theirs. Men will slight 
you ; for you are not, and never will be, beautiful, and 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


125 


they require beauty beyond all else in a woman. You 
will meet with nothing but disappointment among your 
kind, if you are not resolved to expect nothing from them. 
If you would avoid every grief that they can cause you, 
learn early not to depend upon them ; and to this end, 
science, the culture of the mind, alone can lead you. In- 
tellect will indemnify us for all the woes and necessities 
of humanity, — through it we can rise to the true dignity 
of our nature. Therefore, my child, seek out the true 
nourishment for the intellect, and the blind instincts of 
your heart will soon die in the clear light of the mind. 
You long for peace ; trust me, it is to be found only in 
your mind, not in love.” 

Ernestine walked silently beside her uncle. Her eyes 
gleamed strangely in the twilight as she looked up at 
him. She did not understand all that he said. But there 
came an icy chill from his words, and it was owing to 
him that her feverish excitement of mind was allayed. 
Soft and gently as falling snow in the night, his words 
had fallen into her mind, and, without her knowledge, 
hidden the last blossoms of faith there under a thick, 
cold pall. Beneath it her young heart grew torpid; and 
she took this quiet, painless sleep for peace. 

When they reached home, they found the Staatsrathin^s 
carriage before the door. 

“Uncle,” said Ernestine alarmed and disturbed, “go 
in and see if it is the Frau Staatsriithin herself, — if it is, 
I would rather stay outside.” 

At this moment little Angelika looked out of the win- 
dow, and called Ernestine by name in a tone of delight. 
There was no help for it. Ernestine had to go in and 
encounter, to her distress, the majestic figure of the 
Staatsriithin. The great lady acknowledged Leuthold’s 
low bow by a slight inclination of her head, and held 
out her hand to Ernestine. 

“ Yo ■ have avoided me hitherto, ray child. Have I, 
without intending it, done anything to pain you?” 

Ernestine stood silent in confusion. She could not 
have told, even had she wished to do so, what the kind 
Staatsriithin had done to her, for she did not know her- 
self what it was. She could not understand, in her child- 

11 * 


126 


ONLY A GIRL; 


ish inexperience, that it was her sense of shame at her 
own insufficiency that embarrassed her in the Frau 
Staatsratldn’s presence. 

The lady’s eyes rested kindly upon the shadowy little 
figure. She stroked the child’s thick, short curls, and 
then turned to Leuthold, while Angelika, who had a 
large doll in her arms, drew Ernestine away to a deep 
window-seat. 

“ My object here to-day, Herr Doctor, is to arrange a 
pressing matter of business with you as speedily as pos- 
sible.” 

“ Madam,” said Leuthold bowing, “ I feel much hon- 
oured. May I offer you one of these clumsy chairs ? or 
will you have the kindness to go up with me to my 
own apartments, where I can receive you in a more fit- 
ting manner ?” 

The Staatsrathin glanced towards the children. 

“ I would like to speak to you alone for a few moments, 
Herr Doctor.” 

“ Then, madam, let me request you to accompany me.” 
With these words Leuthold opened the door. 

“Angelika,” the Staatsrathin said to the child, “stay 
with Ernestine until I come back.” 

She went up stairs with Leuthold ; and, when seated 
upon the couch in his study, she could not but observe 
the comfortable, cosy arrangement of the room, the deli- 
cate cleanliness and order reigning in it ; while upon the 
table before her lay several exercise-books labelled “ Ernes- 
tine von HartwicL” Involuntarily she was inspired with 
a kind of confidence in the grave, elegant man who had 
received her with so much grace. She inspected him 
with the experienced eyes of a woman of the world. His 
bearing was blameless, and his regular features bore an 
unmistakably intellectual stamp. Far-sighted and clever 
as the Staatsrathiq was, she was too much of a woman 
not to be impressed by the good taste in Leuthold’s appear- 
ance and manner, and she was inclined to think Heim’s 
estimate of him as somewhat unjust. She did not belong 
to the class of women ready to be imposed upon by a 
small hand with filbert-shaped, carefully-kept nails ; but 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 12Y 

the refinement of Leuthold’s person and surroundings 
was very agreeable in her eyes. 

“ The neatness and order that I see here surprise me, 
Herr Doctor,” she began, as Leuthold seated himself 
opposite her ; “ for I hear that your wife is not with you 
at present.” 

“ No, madam, I am alone ; but I have an acute sense 
of fitness in exterior arrangements, and probably pay 
more attention to such things than is quite becoming in 
a man.” 

“ Will your wife’s absence be of long duration ?” asked 
the Staatsriithin with interest. 

A shadow passed over Leuthold’s countenance. I 
fear, yes, madam. My wife, unfortunately, had not 
sufficient affection for our child and myself to endure the 
deprivations to which the disappointment of our hopes 
of an inheritance from my brother subjected us. She 
returned to her father for an indefinite time, and, as she 
has succeeded in keeping away now from her little 
daughter for two months, I have great doubts of her 
return.” 

“ But that is very sad for you, Herr Doctor,” remarked 
the Staatsriithin. 

Leuthold passed his hand across his eyes. “ It is sad 
indeed, madam, that 1 should have made such a choice, — 
that I should have expended years of love and pains in 
the attempt to cultivate and train a nature incapable 
of culture. Mine is the same pain which is experienced 
by the sculptor who finds a serious flaw in the marble 
upon which he has spent years of labour. He exhausts 
himself in the endeavour to shape it according to his ideal, 
and, just when he hopes for its completion, a dark vein is 
laid bare by his chisel, — his work is worthless, — he has 
hoped and laboured in vain !” 

The Staatsriithin looked at him with interest. “That 
is rather coldly put, and yet poetically conceived, sir.” 

“ An artist "would not call it cold, madam, for he would 
know how great the suffering is to which I have ventured 
to compare my own.” 

The Staatsriithin assented. Leuthold’s manner pleased 
her more and more. Just then Lena entered, leading 


128 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Gretchen by the hand, and carrying a brightly burnished 
lighted lamp, which she placed upon the table. 

“Oh, what a charming child!’’ exclaimed the Staats- 
rathin in unfeigned surprise. 

Her keenly observant eye noticed with pleasure the 
ray of delight that illumined Leuthold’s countenance. 
“ Is she not lovely, madam he said, actually glowing 
with gratified vanity. “You do indeed delight the 
heart of a father who has seen his child forsaken by 
her own mother. Yes, she is a treasure. She has 
the personal beauty that once so attracted me in her 
mother, and will, I hope, develop a beauty of soul which 
I failed to find in her mother. She will, in the future, 
repair all that I have lost. While I have this daughter, 
I ask of life nothing beside.” 

The large-hearted Staatsrathin was completely won by 
a declaration so full of affection. “ The man that idolizes 
his child thus cannot be worthless,” she thought. 

Leuthold motioned to Lena to take Gretchen away 
again, and as she did so the Staatsrathin remarked, as 
if casually, “ There cannot be much room in your heart, 
filled as it is with love for such an angel, for poor, pale 
little Ernestine.” 

Leuthold looked steadily at her. “ Madam, a lady 
like yourself, whose loving heart finds room for so many, 
can hardly say that in earnest.” 

“ You are right,” said the Staatsrathin ; “ I ought to 
know how many one can love without defrauding any of 
their due measure of affection. But 1 am a woman, whose 
vocation it is to love ; a man, and a scholar, like your- 
self, is apt to confine his regard to what is nearest to 
him.” 

“ It is natural ; and I do not deny that my daughter is 
dearer to me than my niece ; nevertheless, I think 1 have 
sufQcient affection for the latter to satisfy her demands 
and to enable me to fulfil all my duties as guardian. You 
Clin have no idea, madam, what anxious care the extraor- 
dinarily precocious intellect of that child requires, and 
what a weighty responsibility the training of such an 
uncommon nature involves.” 

“ I can easily believe you j and I am convinced that 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


129 


she could not possibly be in better hands than your own. 
But Ernestine’s physical education must weigh heavily 
upon you just at this time, when you are alone. I should 
very much like to relieve you somewhat in future of your 
arduous duties. You leave to-morrow for the south, 
and I cannot but rejoice, for the sake of Ernestine’s health, 
that it is so. But I hear that you intend returning hither at 
the end of six months, to settle in this part of the country. 
If this be so, let me entreat you to intrust your ward to 
me every year for some weeks or months, — you will need 
some rest, — when you can give your undivided time to 
your daughter. Will you not allow me to take this part 
in Ernestine’s education ?” 

Leuthold bowed. “ Madam, you are one of those who 
scatter blessings wherever they appear. Your sympathy 
does me too much honour; I am unworthy of it. There- 
fore let me thank you, not for myself, but for my niece. 
There is another name, also, in which I must ofer you 
grateful acknowledgments, — that of the unfortunate 
mother of the child. If she could speak to you from the 
other world, she would repay your kindness with far 
better thanks than my weak words can convey.” 

The Staatsrathin’s eyes filled with tears ; she thought, 
what would become of her little Angelika without her 
mother, and, touched to her heart, she grew still more 
reconciled to the strange man whose manner contrasted 
so strongly with all she had heard of him. 

“ Then you consent to my plan ?” she asked. 

“ I give you my word, madam, that, when I return 
with Ernestine, she shall stay with you as long as you 
desire.” 

“ I thank you,” said the Staatsrathin, surprised at this 
ready assent. She was now firmly convinced that Heim 
had done this singular man great injustice. 

‘‘ We have agreed so quickly in this matter,” the Staats- 
rathin began again, “ that I cannot but hope that I shall be 
equally successful in regard to the other affair that brings 
me here. I have come, in fact, for the purpose of learn-. 
iug whether you will dispose of the Hartwich estate.” 

A delicate flush overspread Leuthold’s face. 

“ Indeed, madam, you take me greatly by surprise.” 


130 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“You are aware that my brother Neuenstein has long 
been desirous of possessing the factory ; but serious losses 
in another direction rendered it impossible for him to 
command the sum required for the purchase. When I 
found how his heart was set upon giving his son a posi- 
tion as possessor and head of the factory, 1 determined, 
with the consent of my son Johannes and his guardians, 
to furnish him with the necessary funds. Johannes^ 
answer to my proposal has just arrived from Paris. He 
entirely approves of my plan, and would willingly even 
run the risk of a loss for his uncle’s sake.” 

“ I really cannot tell which to admire most, madam, — 
your determination and energy, or your generous spirit I 
Happy the man who has such a sister !” 

“Oh, 1 pray you do not flatter me,” said the Staats- 
riithin. as a shade of embarrassment flitted across her face. 
“ Such things are not worth mentioning. I wish to keep 
my brother and my nephew near me ; and I could not do 
so if they were to buy property in another part of the 
country. It is most fortunate that my country-seat is just 
where it is. My motive is purely selfish. As you de- 
part early to-morrow morning, we had better arrange 
matters upon the spot. Then I can lay the deed of pur- 
chase upon my brother’s plate at tea this evening.” 

“A princely surprise,” rejoined Leuthold, hastening to 
bis writing-table to make out the necessary agreement. 
The transaction met his desires perfectly, for he wished 
above all things to be able to reside in the south with 
Ernestine, that he might carry out his plans with regard 
to her education, far from Jhe scrutiny of her present 
friends; and, by the disposal of this property, the last 
reason for ever returning to the scenes of her childhood 
vanished. 

In the mean time, Angelika and Ernestine were sitting 
in the window-.seat of what was formerly the laundry, 
engaged in earnest conversation. Angelika had received 
that very day from her brother the crying doll that she 
had thought he meant to bring her upon his return. She 
was beside herself with delight, and could not imagine how 
Ernestine could be so unmoved by the sight of such a mir- 
acle of mechanism. She had made it say “ papa” and 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


131 


mamma, and open and shut its eyes, repeatedly. Er- 
nestine was entirely composed and cold. She declared 
that the words “ papa” and “ mamma” were not very dis- 
tinct, and that the eyelids made altogether too much noise 
in opening and shutting. 

Angelika was not at all troubled by Ernestine’s budding 
misanthropy, for she did not observe it. But that her 
friend should not care for dolls, was a bitter grief to the 
little girl. ^‘You will never take any pleasure in dolls 
if you do not like this one,” she said. 

“ Why should I take any pleasure in them ?” Ernestine 
said in a tone of contempt. 

“ What ? Why, don’t you know ? I suppose you think 
the poor things do not feel it when you are unkind to 
them. But mamma says they feel it ail, and don’t like 
it, although they don’t show it.” 

“ Do you believe all that your mother says ?” asked 
Ernestine, shaking her head. 

“ Certainly ; of course. Mamma always tells the truth.’^ 

“How do you know that?” 

Angelika stared at Ernestine. “How? Why, because 
I do.” 

“Yes, but who told you so?” 

“No one; I know it myself.” 

Ernestine looked down and said nothing. 

“I know it myself,” she repeated thoughtfully, not 
comprehending why the words struck her so oddly. 
“ But suppose she should tell you what you could not 
believe ?” 

“ Oh, a child must always believe what her mother 
says.” 

“ How if she cannot do it ?” 

“ But she must I” cried Angelika angrily. 

“ She must ? How can we believe anything because we 
must ? It is not possible,” said Ernestine, and she thought 
Angelika very silly. Suddenly it occurred to her that 
the pastor was no wiser when he said that we must have 
faith and that it was a sin not to believe. What if you 
could not, — what was the use of that must^ 

“ Ernestine, don’t stare so at nothing,” said Angelika, 
interrupting her reverie. “Just look how straight my 


132 


ONLY A GIRL; 


doll can sit, all alone, without anything to lean against t 
Oh, just give her one kiss ; she is your namesake — chris- 
tened her Ernestine.” 

“No, I don’t want to, — it is nothing but a lump of 
leather, it cannot feel, and I will not kiss anything that 
is not alive and does not feel I” 

“ Oh, Ernestine, don’t say that. She is not alive now, 
but perhaps she may get alive. Mamma told me once of 
a man in Greece, called Pygmalion, who made a marble 
doll for himself, and loved it so dearly that it grew warm 
and came to life. And I believe that if I should love my 
doll dearly she might get alive ; and I am sure I shall 
love her very dearly I She can say ‘ papa’ and ‘ mamma’ 
already, which Herr Pygmalion’s doll could not do at all; 
and in time I shall perhaps bring her on, just as he did 
his I” 

And she clasped the “ lump of leather” to her little 
heart, gazed tenderly and hopefully into its blue glass 
eyes, and was quite content. 

Ernestine looked at her with mournful wonder ; she 
understood now that “ Faith gives peace,” and she envied 
the child her happiness. 

“ Would you not rather have a puppy or a kitten?” 
she asked gently. “It could eat and drink, and you 
could feed it, and it would understand what was said to 
it, and run after you, and love you? Would not that be 
nicer ?” 

A shade of sorrow passed over Angelika’s rosy face, 
like a cloud over the sun. “ Oh,” she sighed, “we have a 
little dog ; but I cannot feed it ; it does not eat nor drink 1” 

“ Why not ? Is it sick ?” 

“ No ; it is stuffed.” 

Ernestine smiled in spite of herself. “ Then you have' 
no dog 1” 

“ Oh, yea, we have I he is called Assor. He only died, 
and mamma had him stuffed, so that he lies perfectly 
quiet near the fire, and never stirs. Mamma says he will 

not come to life again. Oh, Ernestine, it is very sad, 

when I stroke him, he never licks my hand any morel 
I call him hundreds of times, and he used to turn his 
pretty black head round towards me, but he does not do 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


133 


it now ; he cannot see nor hear me, and he used to love 
me so much.’^ 

The little girl covered her eyes with her hand and be- 
gan to cry. 

Ernestine tried to soothe her. “ Your mother ought 
to have had the dog buried. Then you would have for- 
gotten him and not grieved after him.’^ 

“ No I oh, no I I could not have borne that. What I 
have the faithful old dog hidden in the ground ! It 
would have been too hard I He was so faithful ; he never 
left our side ; and when he could hardly walk, he used to 
creep out of his basket to welcome us when we came into 
the room, and when he was dying in my lap, he looked 
up at me so mournfully, as if to say, ‘ I must leave you 
now.’ And could I hide him away and forget him ? 
That would be dreadful. No, no I he shall lie by the fire 
in the drawing-room ; it is far more comfortable there 
than in the cold ground, and I will always think how 
good he was. And I’ll tell you what, — when mamma dies 
she shall not be buried either. I will put her dressing 
gown on her and let her lie in her soft bed. Then I will 
pretend she is sick, and I will sit by her every day and 
talk to her, and, even if she does not answer me, I shall 
know what she would say if she could speak. And if 
she cannot kiss me, I will kiss her all the more. That 
will be a great deal better than to have nothing left of 
her; will it not ?” 

Ernestine shook her head. “ That can’t be done, An- 
gelika ; you can’t keep dead bodies ; they decay. How can 
you think of such a thing ?” 

“ Oh, you say, ‘That can’t be done,’ — you say, ‘That’s 
nothing,’ to everything, and spoil all my pleasure ; I tell 
you it is very unkind of you I” 

Ernestine felt ashamed. She had been treating Ange- 
lika as her uncle Leuthold treated herself. The child was 
pained and unhappy when her dolls Were treated with 
contempt, and her childish fancies not encouraged ; and 
was she, Ernestine, to endure without a moan the utter 
overthrow of the hopes of her entire existence, when her 
uncle dragged down into the dust all that she had held 

12 


134 


ONLY A GIRL; 


most sacred ? She leaned her forehead, heavy witli the 
weight of her thoughts, against the window-pane, and 
looked up into the gray, storm-lashed clouds, through 
which there beamed no star, not a ray of moonlight. The 
children had not noticed the gathering darkness in the 
room, and Rieka almost startled them when she entered 
with a light. 

“ Is not mamma coming soon asked Angelika with 
a sigh. “ Pray tell her that I want to go home.” 

“ I will tell her,” replied Rieka, and left the room. 

“You are tired of being with me,” Ernestine whis- 
pered sadly. “ You cannot love me either, can you ?” 

Angelika was confused, and did not answer. Ernes- 
tine looked disappointed and bitter. “ Very well, then — 
I need not like you either. Uncle Leuthold would only 
scold me if I did.” 

“ What for?” Angelika asked amazed. 

“ Because it is silly to love anything except science, 
and because nobody loves me — nobody 1” 

As she was speaking, a carriage drove up, and old Heim 
alighted from it. Ernestine was startled ; she felt as if 
the pastor, whom she had shunned, were coming. The 
door opened, and he entered the room. 

“Well, here you both are I” he cried after his hearty 
fashion. “ 1 wanted to say good-by to you, my little Er- 
nestine, before you leave us for so long. But what is the 
matter ? Have you been quarrelling about the doll ? 
Why, what a lovely creature she is !” He took the doll, 
seated himself in a chair, and dandled it upon his knee; 
the machinery of the toy was set in motion, and the doll 
screamed “ mamma” and “papa” loudly. “ Good gracious, 
how frightened I am I” laughed the old gentleman. “But 
she is very naughty, — you must train her better, Angelika. 
She ought not to scream so at strangers.” 

Angelika clapped her hands with delight. “ Oh, I 
knew that you would like her. Uncle Heim. You will 
love her just as you do the rest of my dolls, won’t you ?” 

“ Of course ; she is really such a lovely creature, that I 
must bring her some bonbons the next time I come.” 

“ Oh, yes — do, uncle, do I” cried Angelika. 

“But be careful not to let her eat too many, or she will 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


136 


have to be put to bed like your old Selma, and I shall 
have to play dolPs-doctor again.” 

“ Oh, no, uncle ; I will eat some with her myself ; bring 
them soon, pray do.” 

Meanwhile Heim had been observing Ernestine, who 
stood mute at a little distance. 

“ Well, what does our little Ernestine say to this won- 
derful new child ?” 

“ Oh, uncle,” Angelika complained, “ she called it a 
lump of leather.” 

Heim looked gravely at Ernestine. “ So young, and 
already such a skeptic 1 Only twelve years old, and take 
no pleasure in dolls ? Poor child I” 

Ernestine was silent. The words “ Poor child” fell 
like molten lead into an open wound. Heim gave back 
the doll to Angelika. “ Come here, Ernestine.” 

She approached him shyly. 

“ What have you been doing ? you look as if you had 
a guilty conscience ?” 

“ Well, she has. Uncle Heim,” Angelika interposed; 
“ for she said, a little while ago, that it was silly to love 
any one; and that is very wrong I” 

“ Did you say that ?” asked Heim astonished. 

Ernestine felt as though she should sink into the ground. 
She clasped her bands in entreaty. “ Oh, forgive me 1 I 
have all kinds of thoughts I — I do not know what I say or 
do 1 I only know that I am a wretched, wretched child I” 

Heim shook his head, and drew the trembling child 
towards him. “My darling, tell me about it: is your 
uncle severe with you ? does he treat you unkindly ?” 

“ No, oh, no I he is very kind, — he is never cross to me 
— it is not that, — not that.” 

“ I understand. In spite of his kindness, you feel that 
he is not near to you ; you have no father nor mother, 
and you need warmth and sunshine, you poor frail little 
flower. Only be patient ! when you get to the lovely, 
sunny south, with its flowers and birds, you will be better, 
and your heart will be lighter. I would have liked to 
keep you with me, I would have brought you up lovingly, 
and would have tried to fill a father’s place to you. But it 
could not be, — God best knows why, — and I am sure it 


136 


ONLY A GIRL. 


is better for you, mind and body, to leave this northern 
climate for a time.” 

These kind words melted Ernestine’s very heart. She 
pressed Heim’s hands to her lips. She wanted to confess 
all to him. “ Oh, do not speak so to me 1” she cried with 
streaming eyes, — not so kindly ! — I do not deserve it.” 

“My poor innocent child, what can you have done, 
not to deserve kindness ? Ernestine, what is it ? What 
disturbs you so ?” 

“ Oh, if you knew — ” cried Ernestine, and just then 
the door opened, and Leuthold appeared, just in time to 
prevent what would have ruined all his plans. 

“Ah, Herr Geheimrath, — then I was not mistaken. 
It was your carriage that drove up. The Frau Staats- 
rathin is with me upon business, and requests your pres- 
ence at the signing of a paper.” 

“ I will come immediately,” Heim said briefly, and 
went up-stairs with Leuthold. 

“Now uncle will drive home with us,” cried Angelika 
delighted. “ Isn’t he kind, Ernestine ?” 

“ Yes, oh, yes,” sighed Ernestine, standing motionless 
beside the chair where Heim had been sitting. At last 
he returned with Leuthold and the Staatsrathin. 

“ Angelika,” said the latter, “ we must hurry, so that 
Uncle Neuenstein shall not wait for his tea. Good-by, 
my little Ernestine. Herr Gleissert will tell you what 
we intend to do when you come back. Get well and 
strong, my child, so that you may come back to us a 
healthy little girl.” 

Angelika kissed Ernestine hastily, and drew her mother 
towards the door. 

Ernestine stood still with downcast eyes. Heim went 
up to her and clasped her in his arms. He only said, 
“ God bless you !” but these words agitated her greatly, 
and, as he turned to go, she sank on the floor, sobbing 
aloud. 

The visitors had gone, — the carriages had rolled away. 
Leuthold had been amusing himself for some time with 
Gretchen in his own room. But Ernestine was still on 
her- knees in the cheerless room below-stairs, weeping 
over the grave of her childhood. 


PART II. 


CHAPTER I. 

'‘ONLY A WOMAN.” 

Upon a bright, sunny day, at the house of Profes- 
sor Mollner in N there were gathered the principal 

Professors of medicine and philosophy in the town. The 
table provided for the guests was loaded with everything 
that could rejoice the hearts of men who had spent the 
morning in delivering lectures. Lunch was not the only 
end for which this assemblage was gathered together. 
These learned gentlemen had taken this occasion to dis- 
cuss a very ludicrous matter, — nothing less than an ap- 
plication from a lady for permission to attend the lectures 
and to graduate at the University of the place. 

Mollner had invited these gentlemen to his house for 
the purpose of this discussion. There sat the physiolo- 
gist Meibert, the anatomist Beck, and the philosophers 
Herbert and Taun, leaning back in comfortable arm-chairs, 
— their throats very dry, — regarding with longing eyes 
the various bottles that stood as yet uncorked, as if 
awaiting the magic word that should make them yield 
up their contents. Hector, too, Mollner’s large dog, was 
devouring with his eyes, at a respectful distance, the 
delicacies upon the table, quite unable to understand 
how the gentlemen could refrain so long from falling to. 
He would have done very differently had he been a man. 

The Staatsrathin entered the room, and with digni- 
fied repose and kindliness of manner greeted the guests, 
who rose as she appeared. “ I have just learned that 
my son is not here to receive his friends,” she said. 

12* (13t) 


138 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“Allow me to act his part. You must need refreshment 
after the lectures.” 

“ Thanks, thanks 1 you are most kind,” was heard 
from all sides as the Staatsrathin filled the glasses, Her- 
bert, the philosopher, was foremost in his acknowledg- 
ments ; for he was a great favourite in society, and as- 
pired to unite the solidity of the scholar with the grace 
of the man of the world. “We are greatly privileged in 
being allowed to kiss the hand whose tasteful care we 
have already admired in the charming arrangement of 
this table.” 

“ Professor Herbert’s gallantry is well known,” said the 
Staatsrathin dryly. 

“ It is true,” he replied, “that I endeavour always to 
give expression to the sentiments of respect and admira- 
tion that I entertain for your sex, madam, in spite of the 
failure of my attempts.” 

“ Good-morning, mamma, — good-morning, gentlemen,” 
cried a clear, ringing voice, and there came tripping into 
the room a figure so full of life and bloom that its joyous- 
ness was instantly reflected upon every face. 

“Angelika, ’’said the Staatsrathin, embracing her, “ have 
you come without your husband ? What is the matter ? 
You were not invited ; — it was he. Is it a mistake ?” 

“ Oh, Frau Staatsrathin, we are entirely satisfied with 
the exchange,” laughed the professors ; and, Herbert 
taking the lead, — they gathered about Angelika, enjoy- 
ing the atmosphere of youth and grace that encompassed 
her everywhere. 

“ I know perfectly well, mamma, that only Moritz was 
invited, but 1 have come too. I so wanted to hear judg- 
ment passed in this august assembly upon my former 
playmate. I may stay, may I not ?” 

“ If your husband is willing, and these gentlemen do 
not object,” said the Staatsrathin. 

“ No, oh, no, — we certainly do not object,” cried all the 
gentlemen, with the exception of Herbert, who remarked 
softly, with a thoughtful air, that he feared that their 
charming associate might hear some observations on this 
occasion not flattering to her sex. 

“ Oh, I cannot fear anything of the sort from you, the 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


139 


acknowledged champion of dames, the most gallant of 
men,” laughed Angelika, — “ and the other gentlemen will 
not be too hard upon us.” 

Herbert shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Besides,” Angelika continued gaily, “ I have been a 
little hardened in the matter by my stern lord and master, 
who has very little consideration for our sex.” 

“ Scarcely to be wondered at in a practising physician,” 
Herbert said in a low tone to his associates ; then, turning 
with his sweetest expression to Angelika, “ Could you 
not have taught him better long ago ?” 

“ Oh, no,” complained Angelika. 

“ He considers his wife an exception,” interposed the 
Staatsrathin ; “she seems to have left no room in his 
nature for sympathy with the rest of womankind. I have 
never seen a man so exclusive in his regard.” 

“ Such a wife deserves it all,” said Herbert, kissing 
Angelika’s hand. 

At this moment the door opened, and old Heim, his 
fine head crowned with locks of silvery whiteness, 
entered. All bowed low to this “ Nestor of science,” as 
he was called. After the death of his king he had ac- 
cepted a call to N , and had for eight years occupied 

the chair of pathology in the University there. He was 
followed by his adopted son, for whom he had created a 
professorship for the cure of diseases of the eye, — a fair, 
handsome young man, slender in figure and gentle in 
demeanour, with hands so small and well shaped that 
they seemed formed for the very purpose of handling 
such a delicate piece of mechanism as the eye. The 
Staatsrathin and Angelika greeted them both with all 
their old cordiality, and Professor Herbert said aloud, 
“ How fresh and strong our revered associate looks 1 be 
must teach us how to retain our youth.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Meibert, “if Bcfck could see him 
he would recall his cruel assertion that man retains full 
possession of his mental powers only until the age of 
fifty !” 

“ He will soon recall that when he has passed fifty 
himself,” said a deep, powerful voice. All turned to the 
new-comer. 


140 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“Ah, Mollner, have you been listening?’^ 

“ Oh, no; but I could not help hearing, as I came in, 
that you were making pretty speeches to one another, — 
just as if you had cups of tea before you, instead of glasses 
of good wine. Pray, what has made you so senti- 
mental 

“Your protracted absence, probably,” said Angelika, 
relieving her brother of his hat and cane. ^ 

The strong, fine-looking man threw an affectionate 
glance at her. “ Indeed 1 let me entreat forgiveness, 
then. One of my experiments was unsuccessful, and I 
was obliged to repeat it. That is why I am late I” 

“ I suppose, then, you have been torturing some un- 
fortunate dog or rabbit,” said Angelika in a tone of 
distress. “ Poor thing I” 

“ For shame, Angelika I” said her brother. “ Those 
are not words for the sister of a physiologist, — a woman 
who ought to understand the object of science.” 

Angelika made no reply, but observed, well pleased, 
how tenderly Johannes stroked Hector, who came to greet 
his master. 

The door was flung violently open, and in rushed, in 
a great hurry, Angelika’s husband, Moritz Kern, Clinical 
Professor and practising physician. His figure was not 
tall, but muscular, — his eyes were black and sparkling, his 
features sharply cut, and his stiff black hair close cropped 
around his head. “ Morning, morning,” he cried, quite 
out of breath, but in high good humour, as he threw 
his hat and gloves upon a table and himself into a chair. 
“Excuse me for my tardiness. Ah, my dear, — kiss your 
hand, — love me? Yes? Not seen you since morning. 
Walter with you ? No ? Was he good ?” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said Angelika, who stood beside her 
boisterous husband like a rose upon a thorny stem ; “ but 
he fell off his rocking-horse and has got a great bruise.” 

“ Good, good, — harden him,” he replied smiling. He 
looked for an instant into Angelika’s blue eyes, and the 
fire of his glance must have penetrated her heart, for her 
fair brow flushed and her eyelids drooped like those of a 
girl upon the day of her betrothal. 

“ Come, Moritz, you can make love to your wife an- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


141 


other time,” cried Johannes ; “ it is late, — we must come 
to business. What detained you ?” 

“ My dear friend, I couldn’t help it. I had a girl at 
the clinic that gave me no end of trouble. Old trouble 
with the heart, — acute inflammation, — stoppage in the 
arteries of the left foot, — mortification, — the leg must 
come off to-day.” 

“A splendid case 1” said Heim approvingly. 

“ Heavens! what savages you are, to call that a splen- 
did case I” said Angelika horrified. 

“ My angel, if you choose to assist at a council of rude 
men, you must not start at such innocent technical ter- 
minology,” said her husband, enjoying Angelika’s pretty 
dismay. 

“Yes, I too have been scolding her for sympathizing 
with the victims of my experiments,” said Mollner. 

“ You were wrong to blame her. I like to have her 
compassionate. Continue to weep for the poor dogs, my 
child, and the yet more unfortunate frogs. What have 
you to do with the reasons for torturing them ? I do not 
want you to imbibe any flavour of science from your 
husband or brother. I like you just as you are ; you suit 
me precisely. I vvill not have you otherwise.” 

“For heaven’s sake, mamma, carry Angelika away!” 
cried Johannes laughing. “ As long as this fellow has his 
wife by his side, there is nothing to be done with him!” 

“ She shall stay !” said Moritz decidedly. “ There is 
nothing of importance to be done. The Hartwich woman 
asks to attend our lectures ; why waste any thought upon 
such a fool ? Don’t answer her request at all, and be 
done with it !” 

“ Softly, softly, my young friend,” cried old Heim very 
gravely, while Moritz, with Angelika’s hand in his, 
swallowed a glass of wine. “ First read this paper, 
which the girl sent to me, and which so enchained 
Mollner’s attention when I gave it to him to-day after 
lecture that — I must betray him — it was the cause of his 
tardiness. The experiments were over long before he 
made his appearance !” 

A slight flush overspread Johannes’ face as he handed 
Morirz the paper. The latter read the title aloud — 
“ Be flax Motion in its Relation to Free Agency, 


142 


ONLY A GIRL / 


“ By Jove I a good idea, if it is her own 1” 

“ It is her own — that 1 ’ll vouch for I” cried Heim with 
warmth. 

“ That must be both philosophically and physiologi- 
cally interest! Dg,” said the philosopher Taun to Herbert, 
who coldly shrugged his shoulders 

“ Let us see whether the article corresponds to the 
title,” muttered Moritz, turning Over the leaves. 

“Read us some of it aloud,” said Heim; and Moritz 
selected, at random, and read : “ According to my opinion, 
the want of external self-control proceeds from sluggish- 
ness of the inhibitory nerves in comparison with the ac- 
tivity of the motor nerves, for the effort to control one’s 
self is certainly, in a degree, neither more nor less than a 
struggle for mastery between these two sets of nerves. 
If the irritation acting upon the one is stronger than the 
force of will which should excite the other to activity, 
the reflex motion will take place in spite of what is called 
‘ best intentions,’ whether the occasion be a start of 
alarm, a desire to yawn, laugh, or weep at unfitting 
times, a scream, an angry gesture, or even a blow be- 
stowed upon the object whence proceeds the incitement to 
wrath.” 

Moritz paused, and said smiling, “ She has forgotten a 
kiss, which is only a reflex motion under certain circum- 
stances, — that is, when one does not wish to kiss, ought 
not to kiss, and yet cannot help it.” And he drew his 
wife towards him, and kissed her. Angelika blushed 
deeply, and, rising, -greatly embarrassed, joined her 
mother, who sat quietly at work by the window. The 
gentlemen laughed, and Moritz looked after her with eyes 
full of tenderness. 

“ It certainly is strange that while the Hartwich has 
made due mention of the reflex motion of terror — a start ; 
of pain — tears; of fatigue — a yawn; of anger — a blow, 
it does not seem to have occurred to her that there are 
reflex motions of tenderness, also,” remarked young Hils- 
born. 

“ Probably,” said Moritz laughing, “ she has had no op- 
portunity for observing any such. I suppose that, like all 
blue-stockings, she is so ugly that no one has ever be- 
stowed any tenderness upon her.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


143 


She is certainly not ugly,” said Johannes with 
warmth. “ She might have admirers enough if she 
chose.” 

Moritz turned hastily round to Johannes, who sat al- 
most behind him, and stared as if a new idea had sud- 
denly occurred to him. “What the deuce, Johannes I 
do you know her ? Oho ! indeed I now I understand the 
interest that you take in her. Well, you can teach her 
to make good her omissions.” 

“ I should really like to be present at such an interest- 
ing lesson I” said Herbert. 

“Laugh away,” said Johannes calmly. “You may 
laugh at me as much as you please, but have the goodness, 
Moritz, to spare your jests as far as Fraulein Hartwich is 
concerned; and you too, friend Herbert. Pray heed what 
1 say. We have nothing to do here with the personality 
of this girl ; it is nothing to us. All we have to do is 
to pass judgment upon her intellectual capacity, and to 
accede or not to her request. Go on, Moritz!” 

And Moritz read further: “Even the law, without 
knowing it, recognizes this physiological fact, for it pun- 
ishes less severely a murder committed in the heat of 
passion than one that is premeditated. And what is a 
murder committed in the heat of passion, in reality, but a 
reflex motion in a broader sense? If this theory be cor- 
rect, many a poor criminal may escape not only a violent 
death at the hangman’s hands, but also the flames of the 
material hell to which bigoted moralists have consigned 
him. Let us endeavour, therefore, to discover what relation 
these facts sustain to Free Agency. All that we can do to 
attain the self-control which is the germ of all the virtues 
is, from earliest childhood, to exercise the inhibitory 
nerves in the discharge of their functions. It is an un- 
doubted fact that, from the beginning of life, the mind 
must learn to use as its tools the various organs of the 
body. We cannot understand the use of a tool to which 
we are unaccustomed as we can one that we have fre- 
quently handled. Thus it is with the mind and the nerves. 
Every nerve that is often called into activity by the mind 
is strengthened by exercise. For example : the sense of 
touch grows remarkably keen with blind people, who de- 


144 


ONLY A GIRL; 


pend upon it as a substitute for eyesight. By continual 
exercise of the nerves of sensation in his finger-tips, the 
blind man achieves the greatest perfection in his sense of 
touch. ‘Practice makes perfect,’ we often hear said 
with regard to arts and occupations difficult of mastery. 
And what is this practice but the custom of the mind to 
exercise this or that nerve, bringing into play the required 
muscular activity, — the exercise of certain nerve-fibres? 
Are the inhibitory nerves alone not to be thus controlled ? 
Certainly not ! The mind can make them also implicitly 
obedient to its will, if it neglects no opportunity for 
exercising them, — and why should it not apply itself to 
this task with the same zeal that is expended upon the 
attainment of an art or handicraft? I, for example, was 
in the habit of screaming at the unexpected discharge of 
a pistol. I had a pistol discharged daily in my hearing, 
without warning, and in a short time 1 was able to sup- 
press the scream. It may be urged that I had gradually 
become accustomed to the noise, and was no longer star- 
tled. But this was not the case. I was as much startled 
as ever, but I had taught the appropriate inhibitory nerve 
to cut off the reflex motion upon the larynx. I know 
that a subjective experience of this kind proves nothing 
objectively; but such a simple inference, I think, needs no 
proof. Here we come again to the boundary-line sepa- 
rating the physiological from the psychological, where 
free agency results from a material law, just as fragrance 
comes from the chalice of a flower. Only let us be sure 
that our nerves are but a key-board upon which, if we 
strike the right keys correctly, we shall produce the har- 
monious accord of our whole being, and, if we do not 
learn to do so, we are to be pitied or despised, according 
to the school in which the lesson is needed.” 

“ And so on,” said Moritz, turning over the leaves. 
“ The rest can be easily imagined. Here is a special treat- 
ise upon the motor nerves, — it seems pretty fair, — and 
rather a long essay upon nervous excitement, but I think 
we have done our duty and read enough of the testi- 
mony. How shall we decide ? Shall we carry out the 
joke, and admit a student in petticoats to the lectures ^nd 
the dissecting-room ?” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


145 


Why not said Professor Tann with some humonr. 

We admit so many stupid lads, why not one woman?” 

“My dear friend,” old Heim began, “I do not think 
we have ever had many pupils more gifted than Praulein 
Hartwich. And is not a talented woman better than a 
stupid man ?” 

“ That is a question,” remarked Herbert, riveting his 
sharp eyes upon Heim’s honest face. “ I do not believe 
that the most talented woman can accomplish what is 
possible, with diligence and perseverance, for a man of 
common ability. What aid can a woman lend to us, or 
to science ? The aid of her labour only, for no woman 
possesses creative force. And the feminine capacity for 
labour is so weak, that it is hardly worth while to commit 
an absurdity for the sake of making it ours.” 

“An absurdity?” asked Heim. 

“Yes, I should call it absurd to admit a woman among 
our students, to degrade science fo a mere doll to amuse 
silly girls withal, until, finally, there would be an Areop- 
agus erected, before which we should be expected to 
make our most profound bow, in every feminine tea-party. 
There is competition enough already, without increasing 
it by the admission among us of the other sex.” 

“ That sounds strange,” said old Heim ; “ it looks almost 
as if you were afraid of the competition which you so 
thoroughly despise. Why speak of competition in sci- 
ence? Leave that narrow-minded word to trade, which 
is really confined within certain limits. In such a bound- 
less and abstract domain as science, there is no place for 
personal envy and arrogance. Can there be any ques- 
tion of competition when we are labouring for a cause 
which is to benefit the world? Whoever asks for other 
rewards than are contained in knowledge itself, is no 
priest of science. The true student exists for science, not 
science for him, — he rejoices in every fresh advanee, no 
matter by whom it is made, for the honour of the cause 
that he serves is his own, and we can say truthfully. 
Each for all, and all for each. If, therefore, we are offered 
the labour of a pair of hands willing to share our pains, 
let us not reject them because they are the delicate hands 

13 


146 


ONLY A GIRL; 


of a woman, but accept them, and offer them a modest 
place, where they can achieve all that lies in their power.” 

“But,” cried Moritz, “let such hands do for us what 
we cannot do for ourselves, — knit stockings, for instance, 
— instead of trying to assist in what we can easily accom- 
plish without them.” 

“ My dear young friend,” said Heim smiling, “ the 
temple of science is large, very large. I think neither 
we nor our posterity, however numerous they may be, 
will be able to complete it.” 

“ I think, gentlemen,” said the philosopher Taun, in 
his gentle, refined way, “that there are only two points 
of view from which the matter is to be considered. Either 
we must base our decision upon the intellectual capacity 
of the lady, and, if so, subject the paper before us to con- 
scientious criticism ; or we must determine, once for all, 
that no woman is to be admitted to our University, — in 
which case there will be no question whatever of capa- 
city or incapacity. Let us, then, come to an agreement 
upon these points.” 

“ That is true, — Taun is right,” cried Heim. “ I vote 
for the admission of women of genius, like this one.” 

“And 1 against it,” rejoined Herbert; “for I contend 
that there are no women of genius I” 

“ For my part,” said Taun, “ I am not decidedly op- 
posed to the admission of a woman among our hearers, 
and, if I were, the originality of Friiulein Hartwich’s 
paper would have shaken my decision. I cannot judge 
of the value of the physiological part of it, — I must leave 
that to our friend Mdllner ; but the philosophical idea 
that is its basis I think extremely suggestive, and that 
is more than can be expected from one of the laity.” 

“ I oppose the emancipation of women,” cried Moritz, 
principally because I find the existing order of society 
quite rational, and will do nothing to disturb it.” 

“I vote for Friiulein Hartwich,” said young Hilsborn. 
“ It will not interfere with our social order to grant her 
request. She will not be followed by crowds of imitators, 
for the simple reason that her talent is extraordinary. I 
maintain that we have no right to deny any opportunity 
for development to such a talent because it is accidentally 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


147 


hidden in a woman^s brain. A great mind requires strong 
nourishment, and it is cruel to withhold such from it out 
of mere envy, and condemn it to extinction among the 
commonplace occupations of women.’’ 

“ Hilsborn is far from wrong,” said Meibert ; “but can 
such a mind quench its thirst for knowledge nowhere but 
in a University ? The lady has certainly proved in the 
treatise before us that she has learned something outside 
of the walls of the lecture-room. What does she want 
of a degree ? It must be vanity that suggests the want, 
and we are to blame if we lend ourselves to the gratifica- 
tion of such a folly.” 

“ That is my opinion also,” added Beck. 

But Hilsborn was not silenced. “ It seems very natural 
to me that a woman who feels herself possessed of the 
mental power of a man should aspire to manly dignities, 
and her desire to espouse science, not as an amusement, 
but as the occupation and end of her existence, is a proof 
of her deep conviction of its grave importance. There 
is certainly nothing here of the female vanity which 
resorts to bodily and mental adornment merely for the 
sake of pleasing.” 

“ You are a brave champion, Hilsborn,” said Mollner, 
holding out his hand to the young man. 

“Then we are only three against four,” said old Heim. 
“ Mollner’s vote alone is wanting, — and if he gives it in 
favour of the Hartwich, there will be a tie ; so I propose 
that we give him the casting vote, especially as he, as a 
physiologist, is best capable of judging of the value of 
the essay before us.” 

“ I should have thought,” cried Moritz, “that any one 
of us could have passed Judgment upon such a piece of 
dilettanteism ; it is only the modern nonsense about the 
fibres. There is not much in it!” 

All present looked eagerly towards Johannes, who was 
calmly leaning back in his arm-chair. “It is no piece of 
dilettanteism. I grant that it is hasty and one-sided to 
attempt to ascribe all self-control to the impediments of 
reflex motion ; nevertheless, Friiulein Hartwich’s essay 
evinces a comprehension of the physiology of the nervous 
system far beyond what is usual, and I cannot deny that 


148 


ONLY A GIRL; 


such a self-dependent realization of scholarship is a proof 
of the most decided creative faculty.’’ He^e he looked 
at Herbert. 

“ Indeed ?” said the latter pointedly. 

“ Yes I” said Mollner with warmth ; “but, nevertheless, 
I give my vote against her admission ; and of course that 
decides the matter, — we are now five to three!” The 
gentlemen looked at one another, some with surprise, 
some with annoyance. 

“What do you mean?” cried Heim. “You were 
thoroughly delighted to-day with the girl’s talent.” 

“ We relied upon you,” said Hilsborn reproachfully. 

“ This is the first injustice of which I have ever con- 
victed my friend Mollner,” said Taun, shaking his head. 

Johannes looked at his dismayed associates with quiet 
amusement, and did not observe that Herbert extended 
his hand to him to thank him for his assistance. 

“ God be thanked,” he muttered, “ that you have given 
the fool her discharge 1” And he swallowed the contents 
of his glass with evident satisfaction. 

“Johannes! Johannes!” Hilsborn began again, “why 
have you treated the girl and ourselves in this manner ?” 

“Why?” asked Johannes, — and there was a glow in 
his face that quite transfigured it, — “ because she is far 
more to me than to any of you.” 

“You have chosen a very odd method to show that it 
is so,” Hilsborn remonstrated. 

“ Do you think so, short-sighted man ?” asked Mollner 
gravely. 

“What harm can it do you to make the Hartwich 
happy ?” grumbled Hilsborn. 

Mollner looked at him with a smile. — “When we take 
avray from a child a knife with which it is playing, we do 
so, not because we are afraid it will harm us, but itself. 
True, the child will regard us as an enemy, but we act 
for its own sake.” 

“ Well, is the Hartwich the child that you feel so bound 
to protect ?” 

“Yes, Hilsborn I Woman, of whatever age, is in- 
trusted to the guardianship of man. It is ours to decide 
her future, to protect her ; and we are responsible for her 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


149 


development. Which of you, my dear friends Heim, 
Taun, and Hilsborn, when I put it to your consciences, 
can deny that the Hartwich is treading a mistaken path, — 
that she is trespassing be3mnd the bounds that form the 
natural division-line between the sexes ? I have nothing 
to urge in opposition to the mental activity of woman, 
provided it be exercised within the limits of her proper 
sphere ; and these limits I set far beyond the place as- 
signed her by our friend Herbert and my brother-in-law 
Moritz. But I have such a reverence for true woman- 
hood that I will lend my aid to no project which can be 
carried out only at its expense.” 

“ I think,” said Moritz, “that the Hartwich must have 
already entirely renounced the womanhood of which you 
speak, or she never would have entertained such projects. 
There can’t be much there to spoil.” 

“ You judge hastily, Moritz, as you always do,” said 
Johannes. “If you knew under what influences this 
girl has grown up, you would understand that it is 
not a want of delicacy, but lofty courage, — a passionate, 
sacred enthusiasm, — that prevents her from shuddering at 
the horrors of the study of physiology and enables her 
to look beyond the individual to the universe. A dazzling 
light, flaming before our eyes, blinds us to what lies 
nearest us. Thus was it with this gifted girl when the 
light of science arose for her, enveloping with its glory 
the world of reality around her.” 

Moritz’s face, usually so gay in expression, suddenly 
grew grave : he looked at Mdllner with manifest anxiety. 
— “ Johannes, you talk as if you had a personal interest 
in this preposterous creature I” 

“ Why should I deny it ? — Yes, I have I” 

“ Good heavens I” cried Moritz, “ you are not going to 
stand in friend Hilsborn’s way ? He seems to have 
serious intentions with regard to her.” 

“ Oh, you are wrong there, Moritz,” said Hilsborn. 
“ Her perilous struggle for emancipation inspires me with 
sympathy, it is true, but with no desire for a closer 
knowledge of her. I may surely like to have her for a 
pupil without wanting to marry her.” 

“ And there, Hilsborn,” said Johannes gaily, “lies the 
13 * 


150 


ONLY A GIRL; 


difference between us ; for I should wish to have her not 
for a pupil, but for a wife I” 

An exclamation of dismay burst from the lips of all 
present. “How did you come to know her?” “Where 
did he know her ?” the gentlemen, with the exception 
of Heim and Hilsborn, inquired. 

“ How the idea of my danger seems to startle you !” 
said Johannes good-humouredly. “ Is the girl an evil 
spirit, — a witch ? No, she is only a woman. How can 
you be afraid of a Woman ? What makes her terrible to 
you makes her interesting to me ; and where is the dan- 
ger for me, even if I should try to lead her out of her 
crooked path ? Yes, even if she should become my 
wife ” 

“ Heaven save you from such a wife I” the Staatsrathin 
interposed. 

“ Matters have not yet gone quite so far, mother ; 
there is nothing in the affair yet but pure human sympa- 
thy. But suppose it were to go further, — what then ? The 
husband who is made unhappy by his wife has only him- 
self to blame; for woman is just what we make her.” 

“ Oh, presumptuous man 1” exclaimed the Staatsrathin, 
“ there are women who would prove your error to you 
after a terrible fashion I This Hartwich girl was to me 
a most disagreeable child, — what must she be now ?” 

“ A woman who seems strayed from another world, — 
an apparition once seen never forgotten I” 

“ Heavens I” said the Staatsrathin, really alarmed, 
“ where and when have you met her ? She vanished 
almost ten years ago ; and if her rationalistic books had 
not appeared last winter, every one would have forgotten 
her.” 

“ Did you know her before, then ?” several gentlemen 
asked curiously. 

“ We were playmates for some time,” said Angelika, 
“ but in the end I could not endure her, she was so old- 
fashioned and despised my dolls.” 

The gentlemen laughed. 

“ She was the most strangely interesting child I ever 
saw in my life I” said old Heim. 

“ Indeed she was,” said Mdllnerj “but there was some- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


151 


thing: repellant about her, for she had been embittered by 
cruel treatment, which had developed her mind preco- 
ciously, while it had stunted her body. Such incongruity 
is always disagreeable, and therefore every one shunned 
her, as she shunned every one. We soon forgot her, for 
she left our part of the country when she was twelve 
years old, and \^e heard nothing more either of her or 
of her guardian, who accompanied her. A year or more 
ago, however, a couple of brochures from her pen ap- 
peared, that excited a tempest of criticism, at least among 
women, on account of their rationalistic tendency. I did 
not think it worth while to read them, as the pale little 
Hartwich girl had almost faded from my memory. No 
one knew anything about her, and we took no pains to 
know, for my mother and sister had been deeply shocked 
by the child’s atheism, and had given her up. A short 
time since I went to see my friend Hilsborn, and met him 
just as he was getting into his carriage to drive to the 
village of Hochstetten, two miles off. He had been sent for 
to see the village schoolmaster. Hilsborn asked me to 
go with him, and, as the day was fine, I consented. When 
we arrived at the small castle that lies in the outskirts of 
the village, we alighted. Hilsborn went to find the school- 
master, — I remained behind, to await his return, and 
walked slowly past the large, neglected garden, that sur- 
rounds the castle. A fresh breeze stirred the waving 
wheat-fields, and the setting sun shone through the quiv- 
ering air upon the distant landscape. Suddenly, painted 
upon the flaming horizon, like the picture of a saint of the 
Middle Ages upon a golden background, appeared the figure 
of a woman dressed in black, — a woman so beautiful and 
sad that she might have been Night’s messenger command- 
ing the sun to set. She stood with folded arms, motionless, 
upon a little eminence in the garden, looking full at the 
descending orb of light, while the breeze stirred the heavy 
folds of her dress. The evening-red cast a glow upon 
her grave face, white as marble, and the light in her 
large eyes seemed not to proceed from the sun which 
they mirrored, but from within. I stared like a boy at 
the beautiful, silent apparition, and forgot that my gaze 
might annoy her should she become aware of it. And 


152 


ONLY A GIRL; 


SO it proved. As she took up some coloured glasses 
lying beside her, I saw with surprise that she was try- 
ing some optical experiment, and just then her glance 
fell upon me. A shade of vexation passed over her face, 
now turned from the light, and lent it a cold, stern ex- 
pression. Without honouring me with a second glance, 
she gathered together her optical instruments and walked 
quietly down the little hill. Just then the sun disap- 
peared below the horizon, as if at her command, and gloomy 
twilight gathered above the silent garden, in whose paths 
she disappeared. I could not picture to myself a happy 
face among those rank, thick bushes behind that high 
wall. 1 could not imagine a happy heart in the breast of 
that lonely, gloomy figure. Night fell while I was still 
vainly looking after her. I hurried on to the schoolmas- 
ter’s, upon the pretence of finding Hilsborn, and learned 
from him that my unknown was Ernestine Hartwich. 
She had, a short time before, rented the Haunted Castle, 
as it was called, and, as they were not very enlightened in 
the village, the beautiful girl was regarded with a sort of 
supernatural terror, — for certainly something must be 
wrong with one who lived so entirely cut off from inter- 
course with human beings, and who, worse than all, 
never went to church. There was some excuse to be 
found for her, to be sure, in the evil influence of a step- 
uncle and guardian, who had had charge of her since the 
early death of her parents, and who possessed entire au- 
thority over her. He is that famous, or rather infamous. 
Doctor Gleissert, of whom you have all heard.” 

“ Oho I he !” murmured the gentlemen in a contempt- 
uous tone, and old Heim bestowed upon him a hearty 
‘‘ Scoundrel 1” 

“ Well,” Johannes continued, “I am sure you will not 
imagine me such a fool as to have fallen in love at the 
first sight of a beautiful face, but the apparition that I 
have just described presented a combination of what is 
most attractive to a man, — ‘ beauty, intellect, and virtue.’ ” 

‘‘ Virtue !” Herbert repeated ; “ are you so sure of that ?” 

“Yes. If Fraulein Hartwich were not virtuous, she 
would not live in such strict retirement. Those who have 
tasted the cup of self-indulgence are too apt to return tc 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


153 


it; the truly pure alone can find contentment in seclu- 
sion and loneliness, inspired only by a grand idea I I go 
still further, and, as a physiologist, upon the ground 
of the preservation of force, maintain that a woman en- 
gaged in such unusual and profound studies needs all 
her vital energy for her work, and is dead to all the 
pleasures of sense. Hence we so often find entire 
lack of sensibility in women accustomed to great mental 
activity, — because their supply of vital force is not suffi' 
cient for the double occupation of thinking and feeling. 
And therefore my only fear is that there is no warm 
heart throbbing within that exquisite form.’^ 

The professors looked' significantly at one another, 
and the Staatsrathin exchanged anxious whispers with 
Angelika. 

“ Well,” said Herbert, as he arose from his chair, “ I 
propose that we leave our respected associate to his 
dreams, and wish for his sake that his pupil may not be 
as accomplished upon the subject of the nerves of sensa- 
tion as upon the inhibitory nerves.” 

The gentlemen all arose. 

Johannes looked fixedly at Herbert and said, “ I am no 
dreamer. Doctor Herbert, although I believe in the virtue 
that requires no certificate of character. And, I repeat, 
I believe so firmly in this virtue, that I denounce as 
a slanderer the man who dares to assail it by a single 
word I” 

‘‘ Sir !” cried Herbert with irritation, “ your remark is 
insulting I” 

“ Only to him to whom it may apply I” said Johannes 
calmly. 

Angelika ran to her brother and threw her arms around 
him. “Johannes I Johannes! consider who it is that 
you are defending. You do not even know her.” 

“ Yes, yes, she is right 1” added several of the gentle- 
men. 

Johannes held up Ernestine’s paper, and said with 
earnest gravity, “ I do know her.” 

Herbert took his hat, and, with a silent bow, was about 
to leave the room, when the beadle of the University 
rushed in and handed Johannes a letter. “Herr Profes- 


154 


ONLY A GIRL; 


sor ! Herr Professor I this comes in haste from his Honor, 
and concerns all the gentlemen.” 

Johannes opened the letter, and Herbert stood listen- 
ing upon the threshold. After reading it, Johannes 
looked around the circle with a smile. “ Gentlemen, we 
have been most strangely mystified. The prize essay 
upon the 'Capacity of the Eye for Stereoscopic Visiorij' 
which we all attributed to Hilsborn, is by — Fraulein 
Hartwich !” 

An exclamation of surprise greeted this announcement. 
All present crowded around Johannes to read the letter ; 
even Herbert entered the room again, to make sure that 
what he had heard was true. There was no doubt of it, 
— the fact wms indisputable that these gentlemen had ac- 
corded the prize offered for the best essay upon the ‘ Capa- 
city of the Eye for Stereoscopic Vision ’ to Ernestine, to 
whom they had just denied admission to the University 
because she was a woman. It was a fact not exactly 
pleasant to contemplate, and the professors exchanged 
glances of chagrin. 

" What is to be done ?” asked some. 

“ This alters the case entirely,” said Beck. 

Mdllner,” cried Meibert, “ this is embarrassing enough. 
I think we shall have to reconsider our decision.” 

“ We can scarcely withhold a diploma from a woman to 
whom we have awarded this prize,” said Taun. 

Heim nodded in high good humuor, and growled, “Ah, 
yes, you sing a different tune now!” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Johannes with emphasis, “ I pray 
you do not mistake the point at issue. If the question 
had been of the capacity of the applicant, the essay that 
we have already read would have influenced our decision ; 
but there is a social principle concerned, which we must 
not violate for the sake of an individual. Must I remind 
you of what you know so well ?” 

“ Our colleague is still victorious,” said Taun, offering 
his hand with kindly dignity to Johannes. “ We cannot 
think you in the wrong.” 

“ The prize awarded to a woman !” muttered Herbert, 
as he left the room. “ It is enough to kill one with vexa- 
tion!” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


155 


“ It is a pity,” said the others, when he had departed, 
*Hhat our pleasant morning should have been so spoiled 
by Herbert.’’ 

“ Do not be disturbed by it, dear friends,” laughed 
Johannes; “ it did me good to tell him the truth for once. 
He is one of those who sustain their mental existence by 
continual conflict. ‘ Destroy, that you may exist,’ is their 
motto, — and of course they are the sworn enemies of all 
rising talent. They must be so, because they are not 
conscious of any power in themselves to soar above it ; 
they need all the strength of their nature to enable them 
to avoid being extinguished by the wealth of vital force 
that is expended all around them. Those whose lot is 
cast beyond the sphere of such individuals can afford to 
pity them, but those who are within reach of their poi- 
sonous fangs must fear them as the arch-enemies of all 
creation and growth. Although I could not accede to 
Fraulein Hartwich’s request, the envious malice with 
which he criticised her pained me excessively.” 

“ That is very true,” said the philosopher Taun. “ It 
is sad enough when such embodied negations interfere 
with the free, joyous activity of art, — doubly so when 
they meddle with science I” 

“Who would have thought it,” cried Angelika, “of 
the gallant Professor Herbert, who is sure to propose 
* the ladies’ at every supper-party I I am amazed I” 

“ One who pays court to ‘the ladies,’ my fair colleague, 
may very possibly be no advocate for woman, since, ac- 
cording to my brother Schopenhauer, what constitutes the 
modern lady is not the strength, but the weakness, of her 
sex,” replied Taun. 

“ True enough,” said Johannes. “ Such a man might 
show consideration for weakness, — he can only contend 
with strength.” 

“ Only wait awhile, Herr Professor Herbert I” cried 
Angelika, shaking her plump little forefinger towards the 
door of the room. “ I shall not forget you, — only wait — 
I will strip the sheep’s clothing from the wolf’s back, in 
full conclave of his lady friends 1 And you too, Moritz, 
I have a word to say to you, but not until we are alone.” 

The gentlemen laughed, and took their hats. 


156 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ Come, we must not deprive our friend Kern for one 
moment longer of such a charming curtain-lecture,” said 
Taun. 

All took their leave, except Heim, Hilsborn, and Moritz. 

And so,” began Angelika with a pout, “ you miser- 
able, detestable man, we are to do nothing but knit stock- 
ings ?” 

“One thing beside,” said Moritz, seizing both her 
hands, — “ you may kiss — that is a charming vocation.” 

“Nonsense! any stupid fool can do that, — the clever 
ones must do something better.” 

“No woman with so pretty a mouth can do anything 
better 1 Only those who are ugly or old shall knit stock- 
ings.” 

“ There is no getting a serious word from you, Moritz, 
but I am sorry for poor Ernestine, and it grieves me that 
you were so hard upon her.” 

One single stern glance from Moritz’s black eyes en- 
countered his wife’s ; it was enough — it silenced her in- 
stantly. 

“ You know,” he said kindly, but gravely, as if to a 
child, “that I do not like to have you undertake to decide 
upon matters of which you understand nothing.” 

Angelika looked down, and a tear trembled upon her 
long eyelashes. 

“ What is it ?” asked Moritz soothingly, and drew her 
towards him, — “tears? And why not ? Nothing more 
than a dewdrop in the bosom of a rose, — nothing more.” 
He brushed away her tears, and she smiled at him again. 

“ It is well for you, my son,” saiU the Staatsrathin 
gently, but gravely, “ that your wife’s heart is so warm 
that the frost made in it by unkind words melts to tears 
and does no farther injury.” 

Moritz looked at his mother-in-law, and then at his 
wife. — “ Angelika, was I unkind ?” 

Angelika shook her fair curls and said, in a tone which 
told all the sweetness of her childlike disposition, “No, 
Moritz, you were right.” 

“ There, mamma, that is a true woman as she comes 
from the hand of her Creator to be a blessing to the man 
to whom she belongs,” cried Moritz, with a fond look at 
his wife. 


I 

OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 15t 

The Staatsrathin stood beside them, her eyes resting 
with unspeakable affection upon her child, but there was 
a strange mixture of delight and anxiety in her heart. 

“ This youthful devotion is very beautiful, but, when 
its first fervour has passed, nothing remains of the bride- 
groom but the lord and master of the wife, who is often- 
times as unhappy a slave as she is now a happy one.” 
Such thoughts passed through the mother’s mind, and 
she sighed. 

Meanwhile, Johannes had been talking in a low voice 
with Heim and Hilsborn about the contents of a letter 
which Heim had handed him to read. “ Then, Father 
Heim, that is settled,” he said. 

The Staatsrathin turned to them, and asked, “ What 
have you there?” 

“ A letter from FrMein Hartwich to Uncle Heim, 
mother.” 

Johannes handed her the letter, and the Staatsrathin 
read : 

“ Herr Geheimrath : 

“ I do not know whether you remember a little girl 
called Ernestine Hartwich, whose life you once saved, 
but I do know that, even if you do not remember her, 
you will not refuse aid to any one who appeals to you. 
I have sent an application to the University here to be 
allow^ed to attend the lectures. I did this without my 
guardian’s knowledge, for he disapproved of the plan. I 
therefore wish to keep the matter a secret from him until 
results shall reconcile him to my mode of proceeding.” 

“ Very considerate,” interposed the Staatsrathin ironi- 
cally ; but let us proceed.” 

“ My request to you is, my dear sir, that you will 
arrange matters so that the reply of the faculty to my 
application shall reach me without my uncle’s knowledge, 
and, indeed, that you will convey it to me yourself. 1 
also need your medical advice, for I am far from well, 
and my uncle has never permitted me to see a physi- 
cian. I obeyed his wishes until I learnt that you reside 

14 


158 


ONLY A GIRL; 


in my neighbourhood. Now I turn to you with all my 
old confidence. If any one can help me, you can. I must 
entreat you, if you would spare me a painful scene, to 
come to me on a day when Doctor Gleissert is not at 
home. He goes to town on business every Wednesday 
and Saturday. I pray you to come to me on one of these 
days. 

“ With great respect, 

“Ernestine Hartwich.’^ 

“Well, that is certainly more brief and to the point 
than might be expected from a blue-stocking,” said Moritz. 

The Staatsrathin looked troubled. “ It is dry and cold, 
— scarcely courteous, — certainly not cordial, as she might 
have been to her former benefactor.” 

“ Remember, my dear friend, that nearly ten years 
have passed since that time, — a very long period for so 
young a girl,” said Heim. 

“Ah, Uncle Heim,” cried Angelika, “you dandle my 
boy on your knee now, just as you did my doll then. 
These years have passed like a dream for me.” 

“ Your nature is very different from Ernestine's, my 
child,” replied Heim. 

“ Yes, thank God I” ejaculated Moritz. 

The Staatsrathin folded up the letter. “ I cannot help 
pronouncing this letter heartless, — there is no other word 
for it. And mingled cowardice and defiance in regard 
to her uncle breathe from every line of it.” 

“ Proving how her strong nature has been cowed by 
that scoundrel,” cried Johannes with warmth. 

His mother looked at him anxiously. “ How could she, 
if she is such a strong, noble woman, submit to be cowed 
by such a man ?” 

“ Why not, dearest mother ?” replied Johannes. “ How- 
ever noble and strong she may be, she is only a woman, 
after all.” 

At this moment a carriage thundered past the house. 
They all looked out of the windows. 

“ The Worronska 1” 

The fast countess I” cried Moritz. “ What a model 
of an Amazon ! How beautiful she is, managing those 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


159 


four horses and looking up here ! That look is for you, 
Johannes. See I she is smiling at you.” 

“ I shall not interfere with Herbert,” laughed Johannes. 

I hear he is devoted to her.” 

“ VVhatl Herbert! — to the Worronska?” cried Moritz. 
“ How did that happen ?” 

“ Why, he was tutor for some years to a friend of the 
count’s in St. Petersburg. He knew her there,” replied 
Johannes. 

“Now, that would be a charming daughter-in-law for 
you, my dear Staatsrathin,” said Heim. “ Why, she 
w’ould be even worse than the Hartwich.” 

“ Bah 1” said Johannes. “ She too is only a woman. 
If she fell, she owed her ruin to a man, — and a man 
might have been her saviour.” 


CHAPTER II. 

THE SWAN. 

A DARK, gloomy pile overlooked the village of Hoch- 
stetten, that lay about two miles from the city, in the 
midst of a charming country. It had once been called 
Hochstetten Castle ; but since the direct line of the noble 
family in which it had passed for a century from father 
to son had died out, and only a castellan had dwelt there, 
to hold it in possession for a distant branch of its ancient 
house, it had gone by the name of the “ Haunted Castle” 
among the people ; for of course in such an old house, 
where so many men had died, there must be ghosts, and 
popular superstition declared that the spirits of the de- 
parted still hovered about the spot where their earthly 
forms had been wont to wander. 

But in this last year it happened that the castle was 
really inhabited by a spirit whose appearance inspired the 
vulgar, who suspect the devil’s agency in whatever they 
do not comprehend, with quite as much horror as they 


160 


ONLY A GIRL; 


had felt at the ghosts of their former lords, — although 
this latter spirit still inhabited a young and very beautiful 
body. Ernestine Hartwich had rented the castle, and, 
with her uncle, was living her strange life there. Since 
her arrival the house and the overgrown grounds within 
the high walls were certainly under a spell, and were 
avoided by all who were not obliged to go that way. 
There lay the old castle, in the midst of lovely hills and 
mountain-chains, embosomed in green trees, bathed in 
the sunlight of a dewy summer morning, and yet its gray, 
ancient walls looked abroad over the fresh life of wood and 
plain as gloomily as if they hid within them only death 
and decay. 

Two strangers, driving past in a light vehicle, gazed 
gravely and silently at the place. The road grew some- 
what steep, and they descended and walked beside the 
horse. A young peasant passed by, with scythe and 
reaping-hook, and, seeing the pleasant faces of the 
strangers, nodded kindly to them. The elder of the two 
stopped, as if prompted by a sudden impulse, and asked, 
“What castle is that?’^ 

“ That V' was the reply. “ That is the Haunted Castle.” 

“ Who lives there 

“ The Hartwich lives there.” 

“Who is the Hartwich ?” 

“Why, the witch who has rented it.” 

“Why do you call her a witch ?” 

“Because there’s something wrong about her.” 

“Walk on with us a little way, if you have time, and 
tell us something of the lady,” said the stranger. 

“ Oh, yes, I have time enough,” replied the peasant, 
flatered by the interest that his remarks had excited. 
“ But, good gracious I 1 do not know where to begin to 
tell about her. There is no beginning and no end to it.” 

“How does she look ?” asked the younger gentleman. 
“ Is she pretty ?” 

“ No, indeed I She is pale and thin, and has big, coal- 
black eyes. And she looks so gloomy that you can tell 
as soon as you see her that she has an evil conscience.” 

“ It is characteristic of the degree of culture to which 
the common people have attained,” said the elder in an 


OR A PHTSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


161 


undertone to his companion, “ that they have no admira- 
tion for beautiful outlines, but only for flesh and colour. 
They think a classic profile ugly if there is not a plump 
cheek on either side of it. This rude taste for the raw 
material is natural and excusable in peasants and com- 
mon labourers, whose work is principally with raw mate- 
rial. Where should they learn anything better ? But it 
is sad to think how many of the educated classes there 
are whose taste is just as uncultivated, and who admire 
only the beautiful embodiment, not the embodied beauty.’^ 

“Yes,” added the other, “it is just so in spiritual mat- 
ters. An expression of thoughtfulness is always strange 
and gloomy in the eyes of the common people ; they are 
attracted only by thoughtless gaiety. The stamp of mind 
upon a serious brow is in their eyes the sign-manual of 
the evil one. But how many among ourselves are scarcely 
better than the people in this respect 1 We do not share 
their prejudices, — eh, Johannes?” 

“ No, Hilsborn, God knows we do not. This super- 
ficial idea of beauty explains the fact that Fraulein Hart- 
wich was called ugly as a child, although she had a beau- 
tiful brow, a fine profile, and such eyes as I never saw 
before or since in my life, — eyes, Hilsborn,” — and he laid 
his hand upon his friend’s arm, — “ in which lay a world 
of slumbering feeling, and the promise of bliss unspeak- 
able for him who should awaken it to life. I had forgot- 
ten the little girl whom I saw only once, but when lately 
I encountered a glance from the eyes of that strange, 
lovely woman, I recognized the child again,, — the poor, 
forsaken child. There was the old shy melancholy in 
those eyes, and they pierced my heart with a foreboding 
pain. I could have taken her in my arms and borne her 
away from the hill where she stood, as formerly from the 
breaking bough to which she had fled from me 1” 

“ God grant she be worthy of such a man as you I” 
said Hilsborn. 

“ Do not speak so, Hilsborn ; you know I will not 
listen to such words. Let us ask this fellow more about 
her.” 

He turned to the young peasant, who was walking 
whistling on the other side of the road. 

14* 


162 


, ONLY A GIRL; 


“ Is she not at least kind to the poor ?” he asked. 

“God preserve any one to whom she is kind ! No one 
wants anything from her. Her uncle distributes some 
money every week, but only the very poorest people take 
it, and they always cross themselves over it.” 

Johannes and Hilsborn looked at each other with a. 
smile. “ Then her evil influence extends even to her 
charities ?” 

“ Yes, that’s what I mean, — wherever she goes she car- 
ries misfortune. She pretends to know more than any 
one, and wants to introduce all sorts of new-fangled ways. 
She wouldn’t have people sick with a fever covered up 
in good, thick feather beds, or give them a single glass 
of good liquor. All that was wrong, she said. A poor 
widow in the village had a sick child, which she nursed 
as well as she could. The Hartwich went to see her, 
and overpersuaded the woman, so that she let her watch 
with it one night. Scarcely had she seated herself by 
the cradle when the child grew worse, and fell into con- 
vulsions. The Hartwich sent the mother to the castle to 
send off a man on horseback for the doctor, and was left 
all alone with the child. When the woman got back 
from the castle the witch had the child on her lap, and 
the poor little thing was dying. The woman, frantic 
with terror, tore the little body out of her arms ; but it 
was dead I and the Hartwich left her, as she would not 
hear a word from her. When the doctor came, he talked 
all sorts of stuff, and wanted to have the child dissected, 
as they call it; but of course no Christian mother would 
allow such a thing, and no one knew what the Hartwich 
had done. to the poor little creature.” 

“ But, you foolish people,” began Johannes indig- 
nantly, “ you do not suppose ” 

Hilsborn signed to him to be silent. “ Hush 1” he 
said in a whisper ; “ will you attempt what the gods try 
vainly — to contend with stupidity?” 

“You are right,” replied Johannes. “ This people needs 
the teaching of centuries.” 

“ Well, my good fellow,” he said, again addressing the 
peasant, “ what happened then ?” 

“ Why, that very night, after the doctor was gone, the 


OR A PHTSICIAir FOR THE SOUL. 


163 


Hartwich came to the woman and ofifered her money, — I 
suppose to induce her to hold her tongue, — but the poor 
thing showed her the door, and told her what she thought 
of her.” 

“ That was her thanks I” murmured Johannes. 

“ Since then she goes to see no one, and we are quit 
of her.” 

“ Was this unfortunate instance the only one ?” asked 
Johannes, “ or has she done any further mischief?” 

“ Oh, yes, quantities I Once she persuaded a man to 
go to the city and have his leg taken off, — he had injured 
it ten years before. The man died in the city, and left a 
wife and children. If that witch had not sent him there, 
he would have been living still. He had managed to 
live with the injury ten years, and he might have borne 
it ten more. The poor widow heaped her with curses I” 

Johannes exchanged glances with Hilsborn. 

‘‘ Do you, too, believe that she is a witch ?” he asked 
the peasant. 

“ Well, if I don’t exactly believe that, I know well 
enough that no blessing can attend her, for she does not 
love God.” 

“ How do you know that ?” 

“ Oh, there are a great many signs of it. She does 
not like to hear him mentioned, — she never goes to church, 
and doesn’t pray at home.” 

“ You cannot be sure of that,” said Johannes. 

Oho 1 yes, I can, for Harcher’s Kunigunda is a maid at 
the castle, and she tells us all about it. For one thing, 
there used to be a bell-tower up there, and the bell was 
always rung for prayers, morning and evening, in old 
times. It was right and good to hear the bell ringing 
with the one in the village church, and we were used to 
it, and liked it. Even when the last of the family up 
there died, the village congregation gave the castellan 
two bags of potatoes every year that he might allow the 
ringing to continue. But when the Hartwich came, what 
did she do? Why, she tore down the bell-tower and 
made it into an observatory, as she calls it, where she 
sits for nights long and counts the stars.” 

“ Well, if she looks up into heaven so much, she must 


164 


ONLY A GIRL; 


surely think of Grod and his works there,” rejoined JO' 
hannes smiling, “and those who love to pray do not need 
to be reminded of it by the ringing of bells.” 

“ No, no ! that is not so,” the peasant obstinately main- 
tained, “ She does not wish to be reminded of prayer, 
or she would have loved the clear sound of the bell, as 
we did, and would have left it hanging where it had rung 
put comfort and religion for a hundred years. She might 
have built her star-chamber upon the old tower all the 
same, if she had wanted to, — but she did not want to, — 
and so we hated her from the first.” 

Johannes and Hilsborn looked grave. 

“ Books she has in plenty; she brought whole chests- 
full with her, but never a hymn-book or prayer-book, 
Kunigunda, who dusts them, says, and, search as she 
may, she has never seen a Bible there yet. And the 
Hartwich never mentions the name of God ; and if any 
one does it before her, she talks of something else in- 
stantly. But the worst of all is that she has a room 
there that no one, except her uncle and herself, is allowed 
to enter, and she always locks the door when she is there 
with her uncle. What they do there no living soul knows, 
but Kunigunda tells all sorts of strange stories about it, 
for sh^ has often listened at the door, and sometimes got 
a peep inside when the Fraulein was going in or coming 
out. She says there are all kinds of strange things in 
there, such as no honest man knows anything about, — 
black tablets, with eyes and ears painted on them, and 
burning flames, and bellows, and Heaven only knows 
what beside 1 And she has heard dreadful noises, that 
were not of this world, — sometimes sounds as sweet as 
the organ plays in the church, and then a rustle and 
roar as of a mighty wind, although not a breeze is stirring 
outside, or blasts of a trumpet like the trumpet of Jericho, 
so that she ran away in deadly fright.” 

“ Those were experiments in sound,” said Johannes, 
greatly amused, to Hilsborn. 

“ And Kunigunda says that it is often so light in that 
room that the rays through the keyhole dazzle her just 
like sunlight, although the sun has long been set outside. 
Kunigunda declares that it is not common light, — it burns 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


165 


quite blue, and she had to shut her eye quickly not to be 
blinded by it. Now, what sort of light is that ? What 
business has she with fire and flames ? And Kunigunda 
says she is almost always up until morning, and scarcely 
sleeps at all. Oh, she leads a godless life, — for, if God 
had not intended men to wake in the daytime and sleep 
at night. He would not have made night dark and day 
light; and if she were doing any good, why should she 
shun the daylight when she does it? Kunigunda says, 
too, that she tortures poor dumb animals just for pleas- 
ure, for she has often seen how she and her uncle carry 
rabbits and such creatures into their secret chamber, and 
they never bring them out again. Now, what do they 
do with the poor things ? They cannot eat the rabbits. 
And Kunigunda will swear that there are a couple of 
skulls in the book-room, tumbling about among the old 
books. Now, I ask, what Christian would take the head 
away from a dead man and spoil his rest in the grave ? 
Is it not just dishonouring a corpse out of devilish wan- 
tonness ?” 

“ There certainly is a whole mountain of charges tow- 
ering between Fraulein Hartwich and her neighbours,’^ 
whispered Johannes to his friend, “and I see clearly 
that the curse of singularity has pursued her even hither, 
and that this rare creature is repulsed and isolated here 
as she was as a child. It is high time that some strong 
arm should bear her hence into the purer atmosphere of a 
warm, healthy existence, from which her eccentricity has 
hitherto excluded her.” 

“ Do you see that green balcony there ?” said the 
peasant, when they were quite near the house. “ There 
she has hanging a kind of cittern that plays of itself. I 
would not believe Kunigunda, when she told me of it, at 
first; but then I hid myself here once, and heard it with 
my own ears, the music softer and sweeter than any that 
human hands can make. I could feel it beginning to 
bewitch me.” 

“ Indeed I and how did it feel ?” 

“ Oh, my heart grew so soft, so different from usual, 
— just — just as if I had been drinking linden-blossom 
tea. I could not help thinking of the girl I loved, who 


166 


ONLY A GIRL; 


is dead, and I could have listened forever. Suddenly I 
bethought me that there was a spell weaving around me, 
and I ran away as fast as I could.” 

“ That was an JEolian harp, my good friend,” Johannes 
explained ; “ its strings were stirred by no spirit hand, 
but by the wind. The spell that you perceived was only 
the effect of the beautiful tones upon your ear and heart ; 
and if you had examined yourself, you would have found 
that, when you were thinking of your dead sweet-heart, 
you were better than when you are sitting in the village 
inn abusing the Hartwich. Consider for a moment 
whether an evil spirit could inspire such good, tender 
sensations. And listen as often as you can to the -^olian 
harp; it will not bewitch you, — it will only do good to 
you.” 

The fellow looked in amazement at the kindly speaker. 

“ I don’t exactly understand you, sir, but you seem to 
mean well.” 

“ What makes you think so ?” asked Johannes, — “you 
do not know me.” 

“ Oh, why, you look honest and good, sir,” said the 
peasant, looking frankly into Johannes’s face. 

“ Then believe what I say, when I tell you that you 
do Fraulein Hartwich great wrong. I have known her 
from childhood, and I know that she is good and kind I” 

Johannes sent an earnest glance towards the castle, 
which they were passing. An elderly woman was just 
opening a window in an upper story. 

“ Look I” cried the peasant, “that is her housekeeper, 
Frau Willmers. The Fraulein is just getting up — it is 
nine o’clock.” 

“ God bless your awakening I” Johannes breathed 
softly to himself. 

And, borne on the breeze of morning and the fragrance 
of flowers, the blessing was wafted up to the girl, who, 
weary with her night-watch, was reposing by the open 
window. She laid her head upon the sill, and the fra- 
grant summer air fanned her brow. Johannes’s words 
floated around her in a sea of light and warmth, and she 
felt them without hearing them. At last she opened her 
burning eyelids, and looked abroad, seeing everything at 


OR A rnysiciAN for the soul. 


16T 


first through the gray, misty veil which weariness spread 
before her eyes, — but gradually was revealed in its full 
splendour the sunny picture, above which arched the 
clear, cloudless firmament. She arose and leaned out with 
a deep sigh of pain. She knew no happiness but that of 
gratified ambition, — she could imagine no other, and there- 
fore desired no other, for we cannot desire that of which 
we have no conception, — and yet, in the sunlight laughing 
around her, in the gloom of night, in the beauty of the 
valley and the grandeur of the mountains, a promise of a 
far different happiness beckoned to her, and she pined in 
longing for it without recognizing it. Yes, from every 
voice of nature, from the song of birds, the murmur of 
the brook, the roaring of the tempest, and the muttering 
of the thunder, a call was ringing in her ears, she knew 
not whence or whither, but she would willingly have 
plunged into the ocean to follow it. 

“ There is no surer means of preventing all aimless de- 
sires than study, nothing better to prevent all abstract 
dreaming than absorption in some specialty,” her uncle 
had told her when he suspected her of moods like that we 
have just described. “ If you long to grasp the whole, 
first grasp a part, — if you thirst to fly to heaven, remem- 
ber that the observatory is the only way thither, — if you 
desire to feel the warm throb of life, you can find it no- 
where so satisfactorily as at the dissecting-table.” 

And she had turned away silently, uncomplainingly, 
from her flight to distant realms, to the telescope, and 
with a warm, swelling heart that would have embraced 
a world, had busied herself with analyzing microscopic 
organizations. Thus, in the course of long years, she 
had grown used to suppress emotions such as she experi- 
enced to-day, and they seldom came to the surface, just 
as the bells of the sunken city are only heard above the 
sea on Sunday. To-day was not Sunday, but it was an 
anniversary. Ten years ago to-day she had been sent 
to her first and only party, — her father had almost killed 
her, — and the whole current,of her life had been changed. 
She knew the date perfectly, for the next day was the 
anniversary of her father’s death. The familiar forms 
of those days hovered around her; they were the only 


168 


ONLY A GIRL; 


ones that had ever approached her nearly, for since that 
time she had had no intimate relations with any one. She 
had studied mankind, but human beings were strangers 
to her. And as she thought and pondered, she wished 
herself again the child that ran races with the wind and 
cradled herself among the storm-tossed boughs. Oh for one 
breath of hopeful childhood, one throb of that love-thirsty 
heart, one tear of that wrestling faith I All dead and 
silent now, every blossom of childhood and youth faded: 
a woman, old at two-and-twenty, looking down from the 
heights of passionless contemplation upon a life, lying 
behind her, that she has never enjoyed, upon a time, now 
past, that she has never lived. Sighing, she turned away 
from the sunny landscape. “ Our life lasts seventy — 
perhaps eighty — years,’’ she said to herself, “and the de- 
light of it is labour and trouble.” This reading, by a 
great modern philosopher, of the golden words of the 
ancient writings, she had adopted as her motto, and it 
still possessed its old charm for her. What more could 
she desire of life than labour and trouble ? What could 
youth or age bring her beyond these ? She turned away 
from the window, and quickly arranged in thick braids 
around her head her loosened hair which had fallen down 
like a black veil. Her glance, as she did so, fell only pass- 
ingly and indifferently upon the mirror. She never saw 
the face that gazed at her from its depths, — a face as fault- 
lessly beautiful as an artist’s fancy pictures thosp dark, 
melancholy female forms with which the ancients peopled 
the night. She dressed herself in simple white, and then 
her arms dropped wearied at her side. The expression 
of strength that the word labour had called into her face 
gave way to a profound melancholy, almost despair, and 
she sank exhausted upon a couch. She sat still for one 
moment, her head sunk upon her breast, and then the 
large tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“Labour is a delight, when one has strength for it — 
but I have none!” she said, clasping her knees with her 
small, transparent hands, while she gazed despairingly 
towards the distant horizon. 

The housekeeper, Frau Willmers, entered. “ A gentle- 
man is waiting below, Friiulein Hartwich, who sends 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


169 


this card and says he comes from the gentleman whose 
name is written upon it.” 

Ernestine read the name “Professor Heim,” and below, 
in Heim’s handwriting, “ earnestly recommends the bearer 
of this card.” 

“ The gentleman is welcome I” she cried with awakened 
animation. “ Show him into the library.” 

“ Will the Fraiilein receive him without the knowledge 
of ” the woman asked with hesitation and surprise. 

“I will I” replied Ernestine firmly. 

“ Now, Heaven be praised I” muttered the old woman, 
“that you are to see some one at last, and the gentleman 
i^ well worth a look. But you will bear the blame with 
your uncle, so that I may have no responsibility in the 
matter ?” 

“The responsibility is mine.” 

Frau Willmers hurried out and conducted the stranger 
into Ernestine’s library. 

A pleasant bluish twilight reigned in the room as he 
entered it, caused by the heavy blue damask curtains that 
draped the high bow-windows. It was a spacious octa- 
gon apartment, in the style of the tower chambers of the 
Middle Ages, opening on to a balcony, which was likewise 
separated from the room by blue damask curtains. The 
JGolian harp, of which the peasant had spoken, hung in 
the balcony, and some loosened tendrils of a wild grape- 
vine, growing outside, stirred by the breeze, touched the 
strings and called forth from them broken stray notes, 
which a stronger breeze would blend in harmony, as the 
fingers of a child, guided by its teacher, plays vaguely 
upon an instrument until the practised hand of its master 
produces a full, clear chord. In the dark boughs that 
oveivhadowed the balcony, birds were singing, and now 
and then hopping confidingly upon the rose-bushes with 
which it was decorated. , 

“ She loves beauty,” thought the stranger with a pleased 
glance around the cool, quiet apartment, which breathed 
only contentment and peace. And it must be true peace 
of mind that the inhabitant of this room po.ssessed, — 
wherever the eyes were turned, they fell upon the immor- 
tal works of the great thinkers of modern times, — a costly 

15 


170 


ONLY A GIRL: 


library was ranged upon shelves, in richly-carved oaken 
bookcases. 

The stranger began to read the titles of the books, but 
the more he read the more thoughtful he became. If the 
contents of these books were, or were to be, crammed 
into one woman’s brain, there could dwell there not peace, 
but only torturing unrest, strife. At last his eye rested 
upon a writing-table of dark oak, richly carved, as was 
all the rest of the furniture of the room. Around the 
edge of the table, cut in raised letters, he read the sen- 
tence, “ Our life lasts seventy — perhaps eighty — years, 
and the delight of it is labour and trouble!’ lie gazed 
long and thoughtfully at this motto, so strangely grave 
for so young a girl. A shade of melancholy passed over 
his handsome face as he turned away and noticed the 
scores of sheets of paper scattered here and there on 
the table, all containing either a few figures or written 
sentences, evidently hurried beginnings of scientific labour 
of all kinds, tossed aside, as it appeared, hastily and im- 
patiently. Partly on the table, partly ”on a desk, and 
partly on the floor, were piles of open books, their mar- 
gins filled with annotations, pamphlets, &c. Names like 
Helmholtz, du Bois, Ludwig, Darwin, &c. showed what 
massive material this bold aspiring mind was calling to 
its aid, over what mountains of labour it was pursuing 
the path to its ambitious aims. “ So much vital force 
wasted in fruitless energy — so much noble zeal expended 
upon a blunder. What a pity!” said the stranger with 
an involuntary sigh. Then he noticed just in front of the 
writing-table a small open drawer, in which Ernestine 
apparently kept her most precious and valuable books. 
Cue of them was Mollner’s latest work on JMiysiologv ; 
another, du Bois’ Eulogy upon Johannes Muller; and 
the third, Andersen' a Fairy Tales. 

The grave man’s features showed signs of deep emo- 
tion at this sight. Only a strong, true nature could so 
preserve the memories of its childhood, lie could not 
help taking the book in his hand to examine it more 
closely. As he did so, he noticed a little marker of paper 
yellowed with age. It was placed in the last pages of 
the story of the Ugly Duckling, just where the children 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


171 


stand by the pond and cry, “ Look I there comes a new 
swan 1” Was it this, then, that had made the story so 
precious to her — tne prophecy that the duckling would 
one day be a swan, and not the memory of what had been 
dear to her childhood? He put the book back in its 
place with a look that showed that the question he had 
put to himself grieved him. Then he became so lost in 
thought that he was almost startled when a door behind 
him opened, and Ernestine approached him. As he saw 
the tall form, with its air of royal dignity, standing there 
calm and silent in the noble consciousness of mental supe- 
riority, he repeated involuntarily in thought the words, 
“Here is a new swan I” Yes, — the ugly duckling had 
unfolded its wings! For one moment his heart throbbed 
violently. It cost him an effort to preserve his compo- 
sure. 

“I crave forgiveness, Fraulein Hartwich,” he began, 
“ for venturing to offer my medical skill in place of his 
for whom you sent.” 

“If you come from. Dr. Heim, you are welcome. Is 
he ill, that he sends me a substitute, or is he angry with 
me ?” And Ernestine looked gravely and fixedly at the 
stranger. 

“Neither the one nor the other, Fraulein Hartwich,” 
was the reply. “ He has merely permitted me to use 
his name as the talisman to unlock this enchanted castle.” 

“ And why so ?” asked Ernestine, regarding him still 
more attentively. 

“Because I am convinced that I understand the treat- 
ment of your case better than Dr. Heim.” 

Ernestine started, and turned away from the arrogant 
speaker. Her face darkened with momentary displeasure, 
— but not long. She raised her large eyes to him again and 
said frankly, “No, you are not in earnest. Heim would 
not have sent me a physician as vain and conceited as 
these words make you appear!” 

Johannes offered her his hand with a smile. “Boldly 
spoken, Fraulein Hartwich, — I thank you ! Neverthe- 
less, I must rest under the charge of vanity and arro- 
gance until you declare me innocent, for I only uttered 
Dr. Heim’s honest conviction and my own. You shake 


172 


ONLY A GIRL; 


your head, and do not comprehend me. I hope you 
will do so soon. How could I have had the courage to 
challenge your displeasure by so bold an assertion, had 
I not been sure that time would justify my pretensions 

Ernestine motioned to him to be seated. “May I be 
permitted, sir, to request your name before speaking 
further with you 

Johannes cast at her a glance of kindly entreaty. “ I 
pray you allow me to suppress it for the present. I should 
so like to inspire you with confidence in me for my own 
sake,, without the aid of a name perhaps not unknown to 
you. Such confidence would be so precious to me. Call 
it a whim, if you will, but I beg yo*u to indulge me I’^ 

“As you please, sir,” said Ernestine with some con- 
straint, looking keenly at him as she spoke. She seemed 
to be searching in his handsome face for something, — she 
scarce knew what, — it seemed to suggest some dim recol- 
lection to her mind. Then she dropped her glance, as if 
comparing what she saw with some image in her memory, 
yet without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion. 

Johannes watched every expression of her countenance. 
No shade of thought passing across that broad white brow 
escaped him. He gazed at her and almost forgot to 
speak, she was so wondrously beautiful, this shy, grave 
girl, pale and suffering from her devotion to the studies 
to which she was sacrificing herself with such religious 
zeal. The saddest error would be touching in such a 
form, — yes, we must bow before it, instead of laughing at 
it. So thought Johannes as he sat silent before her, and 
something of what was passing in his mind must have 
been mirrored in his features, for Ernestine turned away 
with- a shade of embarrassment, and asked suddenly, 
“Well, sir, and what news do you bring me of Father 
Heim? Is he still vigorous in mind and body ?” 

The indifference of her tone rather nettled Johannes. 
“Yes, Fraulein Hartwich, he is indeed. Beloved and 
revered by his associates, as well as by his patients, the 
evening of his days is calm and cheerful.” 

“ I am very glad to hear it. I am bound to him by ties 
of gratitude, he has done much for me, at one time he 
saved my life. Therefore I Jtoped for benefit now from 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


1T3 


his prescriptions. He is a great practitioner, although 
he has not quite kept pace in his old age with the march 
of modern science.” 

“He certainly is. But he can do nothing for your 
gravest malady, and therefore he has sent me in his 
place.” 

“You are, then, famous for some sp^cialit^. But how 
can Hr. Heim know that I need such a physician ?” 

“ He does know it, for you were attacked as a child by 
the malady of which I speak, and Dr. Heim was power- 
less to effect a cure. Now that he is convinced that my 
method of cure is efficacious, he has adopted me as his 
assistant. Therefore I ask you frankly and openly, 
Will you have me for your physician ? Yes or no I” 

For a moment Ernestine made no answer, and then 
said firmly, “Yes, if Dr. Heim believes that you can 
restore me to health, it is sufficient, and I will follow your 
prescriptions implicitly.” 

“I thank you,” said Johannes; “but I warn you 
beforehand, I am a strict physician, and my medicines 
are bitter 1” 

“ Scarcely as bitter as disease ?” said Ernestine in- 
quiringly. 

“Who can say ? To speak with perfect sincerity, Frau- 
lein Hartwich, the malady from which I come to relieve 
you, the disease that poisons your past and your future, 
is your uncle’s influence I” 

Ernestine stood up. “Sir!” 

“ Hear me before you condemn me I I assert nothing 
that I cannot prove.” 

“No, sir, I will not hear you. You do my uncle gross 
injustice, whatever proofs you may adduce. A life of 
self-sacrifice and devotion far outweighs the accusation 
of a stranger. What do I not owe to him ? What 
has he not done for me ? I owe to him my scientific 
culture. He has made me what I am.” 

“And may I be so bold as to ask if you are so very 
sure that you are what you should be ?” 

A pause ensued. Ernestine retreated a step, and, 
offended and confused, cast down her eyes. 

15* 


174 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Johannes continued. “ What if I were come to prove 
that you are not 

Ernestine looked sullenly at him. “ I certainly cannot 
answer you here ; but your depreciation of me forces me 
to ask whether yon have read anything that I have writ- 
ten, and so have come to form so poor an opinion of my 
abilities 

“ On the contrary, Fraulein Hartwich, your essay upon 
Reflex Motion is full of talent, and your article upon the 
Capacity of the Eye for Stereoscopic Vision has won 
the prize.” 

Ernestine started. Her face flushed, her eyes sparkled. 
“Why have you waited until now to tell me? My essay 
won the prize I Do I wake, or am I dreaming? Oh, 
how can I thank you for this intelligence ? I have no 
words. But let your reward be the consciousness that 
you have given me the greatest happiness my life has 
ever known I And do not attempt to malign to me the 
man to whose disinterested care for my education I 
owe it.” 

“Poor girl, if this is your greatest happiness I You 
are betrayed indeed, if you owe no other enjoyment to 
your uncle I” 

“Oh, sir, what can there be beyond fame and honour?” 

Johannes looked gravely at her. “Something of which 
your uncle has never told you.” 

In the flush of her gratified ambition, Ernestine did 
not hear him. She walked a few steps to and fro, then 
seated herself again, and said with a beating heart, 
“ Perhaps you also bring the answer to my application 
for admission to the lectures at the University.” 

“ I do, but it has been rejected decidedly, Fraulein 
Hartwich.” 

Ernestine's arms dropped at her sides. “Rejected I 
Was it known, when they rejected it, that the prize essay 
was mine ?” 

“ It was.” 

Ernestine stood for one moment as if stunned. At last 
she began slowly and dejectedly, “ Ah, I understand it 
all 1 the gentlemen took the author of that treatise for a 
man, and awarded it the prize, but my application was 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


175 


refused because 1 am so unfortunate as to be a woman. 
It is only natural, why should a woman be permitted to 
vie with the lords of creation 

“Your disappointment makes you unjust,” said Jo- 
hannes. “Your essay received the prize because it 
accomplished what it aimed at. The application of the 
woman was rejected because in the University no woman 
can accomplish what should be her aim.” 

“ How can you prove that?” asked Ernestine with bit- 
terness. 

“ Because she has deserted the sphere which nature 
has assigned her, and cannot fulfil the requirements of the 
one that she has selected for herself.” 

“ You, then, are one of my opponents ?” 

“ I am, Fraulein Hartwich.” 

“ Oh, I am sorry I” 

“ Why ? Of what consequence can the opinion of a 
stranger be to you ?” 

Ernestine looked down. “ The impression that you 
make upon me, sir, is such that it pains me to find that 
you are one of those narrow-minded persons who deny to 
women the possession of any but the humblest ability.” 

“You are mistaken, I think them, and especially your 
self, possessed of very great ability.” 

Ernestine looked at him with surprise. “But how 
can this ability avail us, if we are not allowed to enlarge 
the bounds of the sphere within which we are so unkindly 
confined at present ?” 

“ That sphere does not seem to me contracted. I think 
it so noble, so elevated, that the loftiest talent may well 
content itself within it, if it be rightly understood.” 

“ But if a woman, if I — forgive my presumption, — am 
especially endowed beyond other women, should I not, 
with the power, possess also the privilege of transcend- 
ing the usual bounds ?” 

“ You would then possess the privilege of ennobling 
your sex, of showing it what it could accomplish within 
its own sphere, — you would possess the power to be first 
among women, but not to become a man.” 

Ernestine looked down sadly. “Have you read my 
essay?” 

“ Yes.” 


176 


ONLY A GIRL; 


** Do you think it deserved the prize 

“Yes.” 

“ And yet you would deny me the right to accomplish 
tasks usually assigned to men.” 

“ You have accomplished one such. How far your 
kind uncle may have assisted you in your labor we will 
not ask.” 

Again Ernestine’s eyes drooped. 

Johannes continued: “Probably you yourself are not 
aware of the answer to such a question, — at all events, 
the victory over the other competitors for the prize 
was slight, and by no means difficult. But do you 
imagine, Fraulein Hartwich, because the instinct of your 
genius has answered this one question, that you can 
lord it over the boundless domain of science ? Have you 
the least suspicion of the magnitude of what you pro- 
pose ?” 

“ I believe I have learned enough to know what there 
is for me to learn.” 

“ Do not deceive yourself with regard to your aim. 
You wish to learn that you may teach, — not as every 
schoolmaster teaches, to tell what has been told you be- 
fore, — you wish to educe new truths from what you 
learn, — in other words, you wish to produce, to create I” 

“And you deny me the requisite ability ?” 

“Not at all,” replied Johannes; “but I grant only one 
domain for the creative faculty of woman, — the domain 
of art, — because, in works of art, the heart shares in the 
labour of the understanding ; because, in the creation of 
beauty, a profound inner consciousness and soaring fancy 
can replace masculine acuteness of thought — and these 
belong especially to the gifted woman. But science 
presents tasks for the thinking power. I deny to woman 
not the ability to grasp the grand results of science, but 
the mental endurance, the technical facility, to arrive at 
them unassisted.” 

Ernestine clasped her hands in entreaty. “Do not 
destroy the hope and aim of my life I” 

Johannes bent towards her and said gently, “My dear 
Fraulein Hartwich, may your life have other aims than 
this that you can never attain 1” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


in 


Never attain !’’ cried Ernestine, sitting proudly erect. 
“ I can see nothing to justify those words. If I were 
only well and strong, if my body were only a more obe- 
dient tool of my mind, I would show what a woman can 
do ! I would show that we are not merely domestic ani- 
mals, endowed with some degree of reason, as a certain 
class of men designate us, but free, independent, equal 
beings! If you only knew how my whole soul re- 
volts at our social oppression, our intellectual slavery! 
Ob, believe, believe, sir, that I am not actuated by vain 
ambition, but I am wrung with anguish for those wretched 
souls who, like myself, have chafed so painfully in the 
fetters of commonplace conventionalities, or, like those 
born blind, have dreamed in their darkness of th» light 
that floods the world with joy and freedom, buv from 
which they are excluded ! I long to break the yoke 
under which my whole sex languishes, to avenge their 
wrongs. For this I will give my money and my vfood! 
— for this I resign all claims to the happiness of w('man! 
— ^yes, for this I would sacrifice life itself!” 

Johannes sat listening to her with his arms folded. 
He now began quietly ; “ I understand and admire you, 
— but you exaggerate. The social position of woman 
is determined by her capacity and her desires. Women 
like yourself are rare exceptions ; your sex, as a general 
rule, is at so low a stage of development that they neither 
can claim nor desire any higher position.” 

“And whose fault is this?” Ernestine interrupted him 
eagerly. “ Yours, — you masters of the world. If we are 
intellectually your inferiors, why not educate us more 
thoroughly ? Why not elevate us to a higher degree of 
intelligence ? It is for your strong bands to form us as 
you will. And nowhere in Christian lands is the po- 
sition of woman more depressing than in this country. 
Look at Russia, the land that so long retained serfdom 
and the knout,^ — even there the number of learned women 
is perceptibly increasing, and the Russian high schools do 
not reject female pupils. Look at France, at England, — 
women are everywhere employed and the sphere of their 
capabilities enlarged, and the sex is held in higher esti- 
mation. Unfortunately, I cannot deny that the mas« of 


178 


OSLY A GIRL; 


German women are either mere household drudges, with 
never a thought beyond the material interests of the 
kitchen and nursery, or glittering dolls, with no idea of 
anything but the adornment of their persons. They un- 
derstand little or nothing of politics, of the interests of 
their native land, of science, or of poetry ; they go to art 
for amusement, not for instruction and refreshment. Such 
mothers can never implant the seeds of patriotism in the 
breasts of their sons, or educate the minds of their daugh- 
ters ; such wives can never share the thoughts and aims 
of their husbands. Who is to blame ? Those men alone 
who would exclude woman from their world, and, deny- 
ing her all claim to intellectual ability, banish her to the 
the kitchen, or force her to indemnify herself for exclusion 
from their spiritual life by rendering herself necessary 
to their material existence !” 

Johannes made no reply. It was enjoyment enough 
for him to look at her and hear her. He wished her, 
before attempting to reply to her, to finish all that she 
had to say. 

Ernestine continued: ‘‘All this constitutes the igno- 
miny of my sex, — an ignominy that must be overcome, 
or its revenge will be terrible ; for luxury and self-indul- 
gence have been the ruin of those nations who rendered 
no homage to the spiritual nature of woman. We must 
force this reverence from you, at any risk, before it is too 
late. Smile, if you will, at my presumption in arrogating 
the place of a feminine Arnold von Winkelried, breaking 
a path for our spiritual freedom through the lances of 
contempt and prejudice. I know what lies before me. 
No commonplace woman feels any pride in her sex; when 
one of her sisters achieves distinction, she is only all the 
more galled by the consciousness of her own inferiority, 
and takes her revenge, if she knows no better, with the 
wretched weapons of conventional prejudices, — casting 
the odium of indelicacy upon the woman who dares to be 
free; and men contemptuously close their doors upon her. 
My lot must be to struggle and suffer. Still, I do not 
hesitate. If I can effect nothing here, I will seek other 
lands, where woman striving after better things is treated 
with humanity and true chivalry.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 179 

“Where humanity and chivalry assist woman to lay 
aside the very crown of her being, — her womanhood 
Johannes now interrupted her; “ for how can you preserve 
it, if in anatomical studies you harden yourself to every- 
thing that shocks a compassionate woman, if you are 
forced into contact with things at which all maidenly deli- 
cacy must revolt ? I have not interrupted you hitherto, 
because I wished thoroughly to understand you, and be- 
cause your sacred zeal touched and delighted me. With 
much that is crude and exaggerated, there is truth, and 
beauty, in what you have just said. But, believe me, the 
physical frame of a woman is as little suited as her intel- 
lect to certain scientific pursuits. I directed you to the 
broad domain of the beautiful, — of art, — but you would 
not listen to me — there you would have to share your 
fame among too many. Your ambition craves something 
entirely new and unheard-of. But, Fraulein Hartwich, 
this ambition will be your ruin I If you long to create, 
create forms for your ideas that will speak for themselves, 
clothe them in poetic language, or give them local habita- 
tion and a name in art — you can complete such work, and 
your soul can find rest in it from its labours. A poetical 
idea can be fully embodied in a work of art ; but a scien- 
tific hypothesis is inexhaustible, because, however clearly 
proved and demonstrated, it brings new problems in its 
train. Only a man^s rude strength can endure such a 
restless pursuit that knows no pause ; the woman’s deli- 
cate nature must succumb even because her mind is so 
alive that she labours with all the ardent desire, the 
breathless interest, of the devotee of science. And if she 
succeeds, at the sacrifice of her life, in contributing some 
addition to the universal stock of knowledge, she has 
done only what would have cost a man far less pains. 
The result of her work is wrung from her death-agony, 
and the world, with a shrug of its shoulders, says, ‘ It is 
about all that a woman could do I’ Is praise thus qualified 
not purchased too dearly at the cost of health and life 
Ernestine had listened with intense eagerness. Her 
dark eyes were riveted upon the speaker. As he ceased, 
she folded her hands in her lap and said, “ What in- 
justice you do me if you think that desire for the world’s 


180 


ONLY A GIRL; 


applause is the moving spring of my actions! Yes, I do long 
for recognition ; that I have confessed to you. But I might 
have obtained it more easily if I had chosen other branches 
of science, and my uncle allowed me to choose. I selected, 
from inclination, natural philosophy, and, in especial, 
physiology. I cared little for history, because I care little 
for man&nd. Moral philosophy seems to me too dog- 
matical, so does religion. Nature alone is always filled 
with new, genuine life. ‘ There I know,’ as Johannes 
Muller says, ‘ whom I serve and what I have.’ Phys- 
iology has opened a new world for me, — or, better still, 
has re-created the old world, for I truly see only when I 
understand what I am looking at; — every sunbeam 
glancing in a dewdrop, every wave of sound borne to 
my eor from afar, awakens new and vivid images in my 
mind. What enjoyment is comparable to that which 
science offers us I She makes the real a miracle, — and 
shows us the miraculous as reality. And shall I resign 
this ennobling possession because I am a woman ? And 
can this inspiring search for life bring me death ? Oh, no I 
I cannot, I will not believe it !” 

Johannes held out his hand to her. “ You are a rarely- 
gifted woman, and comprehend the nature of science. 
But, supposing that you possessed the rare power — both 
of body and mind — to accomplish the task which you 
propo.se to yourself, you must do it at the cost of your 
vocation as a woman. For no woman can fulfil both 
these offices. As a scholar, you must live exclusively 
for your studies; the duties of wife and mother would 
distract you too much to admit of your accomplishing 
your purposes, for they require an entire lifetime. Now 
you have the courage to endure the want of love and 
happiness growing out of your determination, but will 
your courage last ? When age and illness assail you, — 
when you become weak and helpless and need faithful, 
devoted hands about you and true loving hearts upon 
which you can rest from weariness and pain, and there 
is no one belonging to you, — because you have chosen to 
belong to no one, — how will it be then ? Have you no 
presentiment of such misery? Is there no desire for 
consolation, no longing for love, in your inmost soul ?” 


OR A FBFSICIA^ FOR THE SOUL, 


181 


Ernestine’s gaze was fixed darkly on the ground. “ I 
know nothing of love. How can 1 long for what I know 
nothing of?” 

“ Good heavens I how can that be ? Have you had no 
parents, relatives, — friends who were dear to you ?” 

“ No I my mother died at my birth, and my father — 
who treated me very harshly, and did not care for me — 
died when 1 was twelve years old. My guardian became 
my teacher and guide, and initiated me into the pursuit 
of science. At no time of my life have I had any inter- 
course with my equals. I did not wish for it. My uncle 
sent his own little daughter to a boarding-school and 
lived for me alone, but the tie that bound me to him was 
only my interest in science and his readiness to gratify 
it. He is cold by nature, — as I am also. I have never 
felt anything for him but gratitude. I have always lived 
alone, and have never loved a human being.” 

Johannes was deeply moved. “ Poor girl I” he said. 

Had you cast yourself on the ground at my feet, bathed 
in tears, bewailing the death of father, mother, or hus- 
band, you could not have inspired me with such pity as 
those words, ‘ I have never loved,’ awaken within me. 
You look amazed I The time will come when you will 
understand me, — when by the depth of your anguish 
you will learn the heights of bliss from which you have 
been banished ; then he, whom you now regard as your 
enemy, will be beside you, — to soothe your grief for your 
lost life,— perhaps to lead you to one nobler and better I” 

Ernestine turned away, greatly agitated. She would 
not have Johannes observe her' emotion, and therefore 
only breathed a gentle “ Farewell,” and would have left 
the room. 

“ Are you going ? Have I offended you ? May I not 
come again ?” he asked. 

Ernestine stood still, and did not speak. 

“ May I not ?” he repeated, — and there was such ur- 
gent entreaty in his voice that it stirred the very depths 
of Ernestine’s soul. 

There was one moment of hesitation; then she re- 
turned to him, held out her hand and said, with eyes 

16 


.82 


ONLY A GIRL; 


swimming in tears, — eyes that pierced his heart to the 
core : 

“Yes; come again.” 

“ God bless you I” he said, with a long sigh of relief, 
and then, kissing her hand respectfully, he left the room. 
She stood still where he had left her, lost in thought. 

The tones of the ^olian harp floated out upon the air, 
the roses exhaled fresh fragrance, the birds twittered, 
and the sunlight shone in soft rays through the blue cur- 
tains. She heeded none of these things, she stood there 
absorbed in the pursuit of some dim, half-remembered 
image in the distant past — even in the days of her child- 
hood. 

Why was it that the oak boughs, whither she had fled 
from the handsome lad, seemed to rustle around her 
again? Why was the little Angelika so distinct in her 
memory, — the little girl rocking in her arms the doll that 
her brother had sent her, in the sure hope that her ten- 
derness would inspire it with life ? 

And as she stood there, dreaming in the midst of 
.Julian tones, fragrance, and light, she herself was like 
Pygmalion’s statue, when beneath the breath of love the 
first glow of life informed its marble breast, and the cold 
lips opened for its first sigh 1 


CHAPTER III. 

THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 

When Johannes left Ernestine, he turned his steps to- 
wards the village. He was as if inspired by the con- 
sciousness that his was a part to play that falls to the 
lot of few men in this world, — to promote his own hap- 
piness in watching over and caring for the happiness of 
another. He walked on with the firm, elastic tread that 
belongs to a strong man in the bloom of youth, and 
wherever his glance feP it scattered seeds of the kindli- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


183 


ness which was reflected in the smile that greeted him upon 
every face that he met. He took his way towards a little 
vine-clad cottage in which dwelt the patriarch of the place, 
— the village schoolmaster. Before the door stood Hils- 
born’s vehicle, while a fat old mastiff was barking inces- 
santly at the horse, who pawed impatiently, and never 
seemed to perceive that the dog was evidently only ful- 
filling an irksome duty, and was not actuated by the 
slightest feeling of hostility. Johannes stroked, in pass- 
ing, his broad, bristling back, a caress not unkindly re- 
ceived, and then entered the house, whose hospitable roof 
was so low that he was obliged to stoop as he crossed 
the threshold, lest he should brush his forehead against 
the bunches of unripe grapes that hung down over the 
lintel. He passed through the little, dark hall, and 
entered the dwelling-room. There he found Hilsborn 
sitting with the schoolmaster upon one of the low, broad 
window-seats, while the schoolmaster’s old wife, Brigitta, 
sat knitting upon the other. The schoolmaster was a 
spare, elderly man, with long gray hair, and eyes in 
whose uncertain depths that ominous white spot could 
be perceived that is the arch-enemy of light. 

“ Aha I the Herr Professor,” said the old man, rising 
to greet Johannes. “ We thought you had been en- 
chanted in the Haunted Castle, and would never come 
back to us again.” 

“You may not have been so very far wrong,” said Jo- 
hannes, shaking the offered hand. 

“ Yes, you have kept us waiting well I” observed Hils- 
born. 

“ Brigitta, dear, will you make ready for us ? These 
gentlemen will perhaps do us the pleasure of sharing 
with us our mid-day meal, — it will be about the time for 
their luncheon,” said the schoolmaster to his wife, who 
had arisen when Johannes entered, and was awaiting 
this hint to withdraw. Johannes and Hilsborn declined 
the proffered hospitality, but Frau Brigitta had already 
left the room. As the door closed behind her, the old 
man grew very grave. “ Herr Professor,” he began, and 
his voice was a little hoarse, and his hands trembled 
slightly, “ now we are alone, — now I pray you tell me the 


184 


ONLY A GIRL; 


truth. I would not ask you while my wife was here,— 
for I would spare her unhappiness as long as possible. 
But I must and will know, for the future of my son is at 
stake. Is it not true, Herr Professor, that you have no 
hope of saving my eyes 

Hilsborn made no reply. His compassionate heart with- 
held him from so utterly destroying the old man’s hopes 
in life. In his indecision, he exchanged a glance with 
Johannes, which the old man observed. 

“ Oh, my dear sir, that look, which I could see in spite of 
my increasing blindness, speaks to me as plainly as your 
silence. I have long had no hope myself. A year ago, 
when my eyes were so inflamed, I expected the catastro- 
phe would occur from which your skill has so long saved 
me. The question now is — can my eyes' be operated 
upon ?” 

Hillsborn hesitated again. He could not in honour de- 
lude the worthy man with false hopes only to have them 
so bitterly crushed in the future, and yet — who with a 
heart in his breast could tell the sad truth to that face of 
anxious inquiry ? “ I cannot give you a decided answer 
at present,” he said 'at last with some effort. 

The patient man clasped his hands entreatingly, and 
his dim eyes strove to read Hilsborn’s countenance. “ Do 
not believe, Herr Professor, that it would be kind to de- 
ceive me. If I now know that I am incurable, I can do 
instantly what would be difficult later, — take my son im- 
mediately from the University and train him to be my 
successor here. You can understand that if I am dis- 
abled I can no longer provide for the continuance of his 
academic course, and that it is best that the young man 
should learn as soon as possible the destruction of his 
hopes, that he may reconcile himself to resigning the lec- 
ture-room for the school-room. I know how hard it will 
be, for I was just entering upon a scientific career when 
I was excluded from it by my father’s early death. And 
let me tell you that if my son bears this blow well, I 
have nothing more to fear.” His voice faltered as he 
uttered these last words. He was conscious of it, and 
was silent, — unwilling to betray his emotion. 

Johannes and Hilsborn stood for one moment, not know- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


185 


ing what to reply. They could not console the unhappy 
father by the assurance that he would need no substitute. 
They well knew how important it was that what the 
conscientious old man proposed should be done. At last 
Hilsborn said, with characteristic gentleness, “ If you 
wish to make sure of a substitute in case of the worst, 
it is best that you should do so as soon as possible, as in 
the event of undergoing an operation you would be un- 
able to work for a long time, and, besides, I cannot 
answer for the result.” 

“ Thank you, kind sir. You have told me the truth, 
and now I know enough,” said the schoolmaster, wiping 
his eyes with a coarse, gaily-printed cotton handker- 
chief. 

“ Have I not often told you,” said Hilsborn, “ that you 
never ought to touch your eyes except with linen cam- 
bric ?” 

“ True I true !” said the pale, troubled man, forcing a 
smile, “ but where am I to procure such a luxury ?” 

Why, your lady at the castle should give it to you,” 
said Hilsborn. 

“ She would do so willingly, I am sure, but I could 
not make up my mind to so bold a request ; for, since the 
other villagers have treated her so badly, she has avoided 
us also ; and I fear she has visited us with some of the 
indignation that she must feel at the shameful insults she 
has received.” 

“ Well, then, I will ask for you,” cried Johannes. “I 
will go back to the castle, and you shall have what you 
require in a few moments.” 

As he spoke, Frau Brigitta entered, with a bottle of 
wine and the soup. Her good old face beamed with de- 
light at the opportunity of offering her hospitality to such 
honoured guests. Her husband seized the gentlemen’s 
hands, while she was busied with laying the table, and 
whispered, “Promise me, I beg you, that you will not 
mention what you have told me to any one, that my poor 
wife may be allowed to enjoy all the hope that she can 
for the future.” 

“ We promise you,” was the grave reply. 

“ May I be permitted to offer the gentlemen some slight 
16 ^ 


.86 


01^ LT A GIRL; 


refreshment asked Brigitta with old-fashioned formal- 
ity; for etiquette in the country is like the fashion of 
dress, which follows at a long distance the fashion of the 
city, — so that a form of polite expression is used in the 
country long after it has ceased to be hon genre in town. 
And yet there is something touching in all those old- 
time phrases and customs that we remember as used by 
our grandparents and great-aunts and uncles. They 
suggest so vividly the images of the departed, and bring 
back the memories of childhood. Who has not in early 
childhood seen some old aunt or grandmother, upon re- 
fusing a fifth cup of coffee, turn the cup upside down in 
the saucer and lay the spoon carefully upon it ? And 
when, twenty or thirty years after, we see some country 
pastor’s or schoolmaster’s wife go through the same cere- 
mony, does not the dear old form, long ago laid at rest 
in the grave, rise before us to check the smile upon our 
lips ? Whc cano'^t remember as a child the friendly sym- 
pathy that greeted a satisfactory sneeze ? And when, a 
quarter of a century later, some kindly country soul hails 
such an occurrence with a cordial “ God bless you !” does 
it not seem as if we must reply as formerly, “ Thanks, 
dear grandmamma,” and are we not homesick for a 
moment for our good old grandmother ? Such was the 
impression made upon the young men by the kindly 
formality, the officious hospitality, of the schoolmaster’s 
good old wife. 

“ I pray you honour us by tasting our poor meal,” she 
said, as she put a coarse thick napkin of her own spinning 
upon each plate. 

After the conversation that they had just had with the 
unfortunate husband, the two young men had little appe- 
tite for eating or drinking ; but they would not refuse 
the old woman’s kindly hospitality, and therefore seated 
themselves at the clumsy table. For one moment there 
was a silence so profound that the tick of the death-watch 
in the bench by the stove could be plainly heard. Then 
the schoolmaster poured out the wine. His hand trem- 
bled slightly, and he was obliged to take care lest any 
of it should be spilled ; for he could not see well when 
the glasses were full. Then, holding up his own glass, 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 18t 

he said cheerily, “Long life to you, gentlemen, and to 
our noble German science ! I drink to you.” 

They clinked their glasses ; but it cut Hilsborn to 
the very soul to think that the science which their good 
old host was so lauding should have been so cruel a 
prophet to him a lew minutes before. Johannes, too, 
lov>ked down at the wineglass in his hand, and the drops 
thut he tasted from it were bitter to swallow. 

“Come, good wife, clink your glass with mine,” said 
the old man to Frau Brigitta. “ My wife is very fond 
of a little drop of wine,” he said to his guests ; “ but we 
never indulge in it except when we have such honoured 
guests as sit around our table to-day.” 

“And why not?” asked Hilsborn. 

“ Because it tastes so much better when there are others 
here to enjoy it with us,” was the simple, smiling answer. 

“But you ought to take more of it,” said Johannes. 
“ This good old wine is excellent for you ; it is a tonic.” 

The old man looked sadly at the few drops which he 
had poured out for himself, and with which he had only 
moistened his lips. “ You forget that I have been for 
a long time forbidden to take wine, on account of my 
eyes.” 

“ My poor husband !” said his wife, sadly stroking hi? 
hollow cheeks. “ He has to deny himself so much.” 

Johannes and Hilsborn exchanged glances, and then 
the latter said, “ I reverse that prohibition, Herr Leon- 
hardt. Take a good glass of wine whenever you feel 
inclined. It cannot harm your eyes as much as it will 
improve your general health.” 

“ Thank God!” cried his wife rejoiced. “ That proves 
how much better you are.” 

“ Or how much worse,” Leonhardt said in Latin to 
Hilsborn, with a grave look. Then, turning tenderly to 
his wife, he slowly emptied his glas% whispering to her, 
“ Long live our Walter!” 

The old worn? n nodded delightedl} . “ Our good boy ! 
if he only had his degree!” 

Leonhardt clasped his hands with a deep sigh. “ That 
is all that I ask of God.” 

“-Are you speaking of your son ?” cried the gentlemen 


188 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ Then let us join you. May he live to be the delight 
and prop of your old age I” 

“ He is a ve^y talented young man,” added Johannes. 
“ His essay was declared the best after Fraulein von 
Hartwich’s.” 

“ Indeed I” said the schoolmaster. “ I am glad to hear 
it. Ah, the Fraulein is fortunate. She has everything 
necessary for her studies, — books and apparatus. There 
is hardly such another private laboratory and library in 
the country.” 

Johannes looked surprised. “Indeed I how do you 
know that ?” 

“ My son has, during his studies, also perfected him- 
self as a mechanic, for he says it is a great advantage 
for a naturalist, and Fraulein von Hartwich, hearing of it 
accidentally, intrusted him with some repairs of her 
furniture, and then he saw what treasures she possessed.” 

Johannes looked thoughtful. “ Hm! as far as I know, 
Fraulein von Hartwich ’s income is by no means so large as 
to allow of such extravagant expenditure. Her uncle may 
have permitted his ward to encroach upon her capital ; it 
would only be a fresh proof of his want of principle.” 

After a short pause, he turned to the schoolmaster. — 
“ Herr Leonhardt, answer me one question. If a man 
wishes to rid a country of a dangerous wild animal, is it 
best to track him to his den by cunning, that he may be 
safely overcome there, or to startle him with loud noise 
and frighten him off, so that he either escapes or has time 
to prepare to defend himself?” 

The schoolmaster looked puzzled. “Why, a prudent 
man would surely pursue the first course.” 

“ I think so too. Well, Herr Leonhardt, I mean to 
track Doctor Leuthold Gleissert to his hiding-place. I 
am persuaded that this man is a thorough scoundrel, but 
I can bring no proof that I judge him correctly. Until I 
have collected such proof, which can only be done quietly 
and with caution, I cannot proceed against him openly. 
I need your assistance, Herr Leonhardt, for you know 
more than all of us concerning this man and his proceed- 
ings. Give me, if you can, some tangible cause for 
accusing him, that I may succeed in delivering that r-aro 
creature, his niece, from his clutches.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


189 


“I will do my best,” said Leonhardt. “But he lives 
80 retired that I shall hardly be able to procure any im- 
portant information for you. The only thing that 1 can 
observe is the names of his correspondents; for, as there 
is no post-office in the village, I have a post-drawer in 
my house, which the post-boy empties in my room. So 
that I can easily learn to whom all Doctor Gleissert’s 
letters are addressed. Perhaps that may be of use to 
you.” 

“Do so,” replied Johannes, “you will greatly oblige 
me.” He emptied his glass and arose. “And now let 
me have pen and ink, and I will write a couple of lines 
to the lady at the castle.” 

The schoolmaster opened a little, old-fashioned desk, 
and produced the necessary articles. Johannes wrote; 

“ My dear Fraulein Hartwich: — Will it offend you 
if I offer you the opportunity of exerting yourself within 
the sphere which I believe is assigned to woman ? — I, who 
provoked your displeasure this morning by remonstrating 
against any exertion outside of that sphere. A tragedy 
is about to be enacted in the peaceful cottage of the 
schoolmaster Leonhardt, and the physical and spiritual 
aid of a woman like yourself will be most welcome there. 
Come see these people for yourself; they are the worthiest 
of your kindness of any in the village, and you have seen 
the least of them. Say nothing to Frau Leonhardt of the 
hint I have given you above. The poor man needs linen- 
cambric rags for his eyes, and would not trouble you by ask- 
ing you for them. This will furnish you a pretext for estab- 
lishing relations with these people — if you will ; and I 
am sure you will. I know that I shall hear of your kind- 
ness when I return ; and I shall return again and again. 

“ Your friend of a few hours, but for life.” 

Johannes sealed the letter, and gave it to the school- 
master. “ Here, Herr Leonhardt, is the request for the 
linen-cambric. Send it to Fraulein Hartwich ; and if she 
should happen to visit you herself, I pray you and your 
wife not to mention my name. I desire the Fraulein to 
remain in ignorance of it for a short time. Promise me.” 


190 


ONLY A GIRL; 


The worthy old couple gave the required promise, and, 
bidding a kindly farewell, the gentlemen entered the car- 
riage. Johannes took the reins, and the impatient horse 
bore them swiftly back to town. 

The schoolmaster and his wife returned to the house 
and finished their dinner, for it was nearly twelve o’clock, 
at which hour the afternoon school in the village reas- 
sembled. They dispatched the note to Ernestine, and 
then the schoolmaster betook himself to the school-room 
to wait for his pupils. At the stroke of twelve there was 
a trampling of little feet in the hall, and finger after finger 
rapped at the door, and awaited the gentle “ Come in !” 
without which no entrance was allowed, for the school- 
master was a great stickler for order and decorum, and 
knew well how to retain the respect of his scholars. Most 
of the children were better in school than anywhere else. 
It was strange. Herr Leonhardt never struck a blow ; he 
was rarely angry ; he only reproved gently ; and yet the 
most unruly boy, the most sullen girl, was controlled by 
his glance. The wise old man believed that love for the 
teacher was a better spur to improvement than fear, 
which could only call forth hatred and malice towards its 
object. And thus he smoothed away many a foolish, 
rude, and cruel trait from the peasant youth of his village, 
bringing out the good in the minds of those intrusted to 
his care, and suppressing the evil, so that, during the 
thirty-five years of his gentle sway in the school-room, 
the Hochstetten boys and girls were more in request for 
servants than any others in all the country round. 

“ Good-afternoon, Herr Leonhardt!” cried the entering 
throng, scattering themselves among the long benches 
with a sound like gravel poured out upon a path. 

“St — St I” was heard from the master, and instantly 
all was quiet in the room, except for the rustling of the 
opening copy-books, and the lesson began. 

Suddenly there was a soft, low knock at the door, — 
such a knock as comes only from a guilty conscience, — 
and a little, cleanly-dressed girl, about six years old, stood 
upon the threshold with downcast eyes. She held out 
before her, as if trying to hide behind it, a satchel so 
large that it really seemed difficult to decide whether the 


OR A FlirSlClAN FOR THE SOUL. 


191 


child had brought it, or it had brought the child ; and the 
pearly drops upon* her brow showed how fust she had 
been running. 

“Why, Kiithchen !” cried Herr Leonhardt, “why do 
you come so late? Come here to me, little culprit. It 
is the first time in the whole long year since you first 
came to school that you have been late. Something very 
unusual must have happened V' 

Little Kathchen slowly approached him, while her 
chubby face grew scarlet. “ I — I had to pick berries,” she 
faltered, biting her berry-stained lips. 

“ Oh, Kathchen,” said Herr Leonhardt, raising his fore- 
finger, “that is very strange. You had to I Who told 
you to ?” 

Kathchen still looked down, and her face grew, if pos- 
sible, redder still. 

“ Look me in the face, my child,” said the master 
gravely. “ Are you telling the truth ?” 

Kathchen tried to raise her brown, roguish eyes to his 
face, but, ah, the consciousness of guilt weighed down her 
eyelids like lead. She could not look at her teacher ; she 
only shook her curly head. 

“Kathchen,” said the master kindly, “you were not 
sent to pick berries, for I know how desirous your father 
and mother are to send you to school — you ran into the 
wood to pick and eat them yourself. Perhaps this is your 
first falsehood, as it is the first time you have been late 
at school. Pray God that it maybe your last.” 

“Oh,” the little culprit broke forth, “the neighbour’s 
Fritz took me with him, and the berries tasted so good 
that I stayed too long.” 

The other children laughed ; but a motion of the master’s 
hand restored silence, and he continued to Kathchen : 
“ iS'ow, my child, for your tardiness you will have a black 
mark, and go down one in your class; but, Kathchen, 
for the falsehood you will lose your place in my heart, 
and 1 cannot love you so much. But I will forgive you 
if you will go stand in the corner of your own accord. 
Which will you do ? — lose your place in my heart, or go 
stand in the corner for a quarter of an hour ?” 

The child burst into a flood of tears, and, sobbing out. 


ONLY A GIRL; 


m 

“I’d rather, a great deal rather, go stand in the corner I” 
walked there instantly, and turned her dear little face to 
the wall. 

The schoolmaster looked after her pityingly ; but 
nevertheless he was firm, for he always imposed the 
severest penalty for a falsehood. The lessons were con- 
tinued, and in about ten minutes he called the still sob- 
bing Kathchen from her corner. The child came running 
to him, and he held out his hand to her, saying, “Will 
you promise me, Kathchen, never again to say what is 
not true ?” 

“Oh, yes, I will never, never do it again,” was the 
contrite answer. 

Then the old man took up the rosy little thing and set 
her on his knee. “ Then, my dear child, I will love you 
dearly as long as you are honest and industrious. And 
if you are ever tempted to tell what is not true, think 
how it would grieve your old teacher if he knew it, and 
tell the truth for his sake.” 

“Yes, yes,” cried the child, her little heart overflowing 
with repentance, and, throwing her arms around the 
master’s neck, she hugged him with all her might. 

The other children had watched the ceremony of recon- 
ciliation with intense sympathy, for they were all fond of 
brown-eyed, rosy-cheeked Kathchen, and were rejoiced 
that her troubles were over. 

“Now,” said the teacher, when Kathchen was at last 
seated in her place, “now let us see whether you have 
done your task well.” 

Kathchen pulled out her books from the dark depths 
of her huge satchel ; but, alas ! the light of day revealed 
upon them many a stain from the berries which had been 
put into the bag. The child’s dismay and her com- 
panions’ amusement were infinite. Even the schoolmaster 
could not refrain from smiling as he looked at her terri- 
fied little face. “Never mind,” he said, “you have suf- 
fered enough. Let us see how they look inside.” He 
opened the copy-book, and was evidently pleased with the 
neat copy. But the sums were in dire confusion. 

“Kathchen,” cried Herr Leonhardt, “if a horse has 
four legs, how many legs have two horses?” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


193 


“ Six I” was the confident answer. 

“ Kathchen, how many are twice two 
“ Eight I” 

Herr Leonhardt cast to heaven that resigned glance 
peculiar only to such patient martyrs. “ Kathchen, how 
many fingers, not counting the thumb, are there on your 
left hand 

Kathchen counted with her right hand the fingers of 
her left, and triumphantly declared, “ Four.” 

“And how many on your right hand ?” 

Again the same process was repeated with the right 
hand, and the same answer ensued. 

“ That’s right I Now, how many are there together?” 

No answer. 

“ IIow many fingers have you on both hands ?” 

“ Ten 1” 

“Without the thumbs, child, — without either of the 
thumbs.” 

Kathchen began her arduous task anew. 

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. 

“Another child late ?” said Herr Leonhardt, and cried, 
“ Come in.” 

But, instead of the rosy face of a child, a pale counte- 
nance, with large, dark eyes, appeared, and gazed almost 
shyly around the circle. This apparition produced a per- 
fect panic. “Oh, heavens! the Hartwich I Mercy! 
mercy ! the woman of the castle !” and similar exclama- 
tions of alarm, were heard from all sides. The children 
started up, — those who were nearest the door crowded 
away from it, the larger ones dragged the little ones close 
to their sides, the Catholics even crossed themselves. 
An actual uproar began, which even the teacher’s voice 
failed at first to control. 

Ernestine observed it all without any change in her 
regular features. Leonhardt approached her respectfully, 
and would have asked her pardon for the children’s folly, 
but she interrupted him. 

“ On the contrary,” she said softly, “it is I who should 
ask pardon for interrupting your school by my dreaded 
appearance. I meant to go to your dwelling-room, to 
take you the linen-cambric handkerchiefs that you need, 

17 


194 


ONLY A GIRL; 


but, not knowing where it was, I knocked here by mis- 
take. Have the kindness, Herr Leouhardt, to relieve rue 
of this parcel, and I will relieve your pupils from their 
alarm.” 

The old man held out his hand to her, but she did not 
take it. “ Never mind that; such a civility shown to me 
might deprive you of the children’s respect.” 

“ Oh, my dear Fraulein Hartwich,” Leonhardt warmly 
entreated, “ do not ascribe this folly to me, to whom it 
gives, of course, much more pain than it can to you, 
whose position is too exalted to allow you to heed such 
trifles ; but to me it brings the bitter convici?ion that the 
labor of a lifetime has been in vain 1” He ceased, and 
cast a sad, weary glance at the little flock crowded so 
closely together. 

At his words the cold look in Ernestine’s eyes vanished, 
and, for the first time, she regarded attentively the old 
man, who stood so respectfully, and yet so dignified, be- 
fore her. His inflamed eyes revealed to her instantly the 
nature of the tragedy alluded to by her unknown friend, 
and she was filled with sympathy. 

“We will talk together by-and-by, Herr Leonhardt,” 
she whispered, so that the children should not hear what 
she said. “ Now let me go.” 

“ Will you have the great kindness, Eraulein Hartwich, 
to go and see my wife for awhile?” said Leonhardt. “ It 
would give her such pleasure, — she is in the opposite 
room.” 

“ Most certainly I will. I will wait for you there.” 

She turned to go ; but Leonhardt, seeing that the chib 
dren were now more quiet, and hoping to show her that 
their folly was not as great as it had seemed, cried to the 
foremost ones of the throng, “You have behaved fool- 
ishly and naughtily before Eraulein Hartwich. Come, 
show her that you can be better, and bid her good-by, 
like good children.” 

The children stood motionless. The old man, dis- 
tressed at their conduct, looked around the room, and 
said, “ W’^ill none of you shake hands with her for my 
sake ?” 

“ I will,” said Kathchen’s clear, childish voice ; and the 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


195 


fearless little girl, who had only followed the example of 
the others, walked up to Fraulein von Hartwich, and 
offered her chubby little hand to be shaken, and her 
berry-stained lips to be kissed. Ernestine stooped and 
kissed the little, pouting lips, and looked kindly into the 
pretty child’s frank, sparkling eyes. 

“ Now see, all you larger children,” said the school- 
master, “a little child, only six years old, shames you all 1 
What are you afraid of? You see Fraulein von Hart- 
wich every day I” 

“ Yes, but not in a room — out in the road ; we can 
run away then,” one of the older ones shrewdly declared. 

Ernestine smiled sadly, and left the school-room with- 
out another word. 

The schoolmaster looked around upon his pupils with 
an indignant glance. “You have to-day disgraced your- 
selves and me, and I see plainly that everything that I 
have said to you and to your parents upon this point has 
been of no avail. I will give up trying to contend with 
your superstition and hate, — I am too old and weak for 
such a contest. Only let me say to you once more, 
‘Judge not, that you be not judged.’ And tell your 
parents that if the time ever comes when I shall have to 
leave you, what has occurred to-day will go far to pre- 
vent me from regretting my departure.” 

The children sat dismayed and silent, for they had 
never known their teacher to be so much displeased. 
They bowed their heads low over their books and slates, 
and hardly ventured to breathe, still less to utter a word 
of excuse. The lessons were gone through with even 
more quiet than usual, and when two o’clock struck, 
the children left the house and crept away as sad and 
depressed as if they were following a funeral. But 
scarcely were they escaped from the neighbourhood of the 
school-house than they recovered themselves, and fell 
upon poor Kathchen. “ Fie I Kathchen, you let the 
Hartwich kiss you 1 Nobody cares for you now 1” 

“ Yes, yes, Kathchen’s mouth is black, because the 
Hartwich kissed it.” 

“ Oho, Kathchen, no one will ever give you a kiss 
again I” 


196 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Only wait, and see how the Hartwich has bewitched 
you 1 To-morrow you will know I” 

Poor little Kathchen was overwhelmed with speeches 
and reproaches of this kind. But they troubled her very 
little, for her teacher was pleased with her, and that was 
better than all else besides; and she was proud that she 
had dared to go forward when all the rest were afraid. 

“ If you are so unkind, I will not give you any of my 
berries,” she said, swinging her huge satchel carelessly 
to and fro. This trump -card did not fail of its effect, for 
the berries were not bewitched, — at all events, the Ilart- 
wich had not touched them ; so the little girl soon had 
the satisfaction of seeing the children all gather around 
her once more. 

When Leonhardt went to his wife, he found her deep 
in friendly talk with Ernestine. 

“My dear, kind Fraulein Hartwich,” he began, “how 
it grieves me that you, who came to do me a kindness, 
should have been so insulted in my house I To be sure, 
they are only children, and they could not really insult 
you, but ” 

“ ‘ As the parents are, so must the children be,’ is what 
you would say,” Ernestine interposed, “ or what, at least, 
you think. Do not be distressed, Herr Leonhardt. I 
am used to insult and ridicule, and I have grown callous 
to them. But it is strange that a similar occurrence took 
place ten years ago to-day, at the first and only children’s 
party which I ever attended. My misanthropy dates 
from that day; and the fresh proof that I have just had 
convinces me that I am not fitted to mix with the world, — 
least of all, with what passes for such in this country. 
Tell me, Herr Leonhardt, is it entirely impossible for you 
to enlighten these people in some small degree?” 

“ To speak frankly, I believe I could have done so had 
not my influence always been counteracted by their priests 
and pastors. Asa teacher, subordinate always to a priest 
or pastor,.! could effect nothing against the superstition, 
the religious intolerance, instilled into the peasants by 
their spiritual guides ; for with peasants the authority is 
always the greatest that does not attempt to combat their 
errors. A quack who makes use only of old women’s 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


19t 


remedies will always inspire them with more confidence 
than a regular physician whose prescriptions gainsay all 
their medical and dietetic prejudices. A pastor who from 
a religious point of view justifies and encourages their su- 
perstition and ignorance will be regarded by them as a 
far worthier and more trustworthy guide than one who 
teaches only the pure truth of God. So, you see, I have 
always contended with unequal weapons, and have fre- 
quently been in danger of falling a victim to their malice 
and thus losing my place. In quiet times, when nothing 
occurred to show plainly the difference between us, all 
went pretty well ; but since your arrival, Fraulein von Hart- 
wich, the old quarrel has been renewed, and I see again 
how powerless I am.’^ 

Then I am come only to sow discord in this peaceful 
spot,” Ernestine said in a thoughtful tone. “ Yes, yes, — 
misfortune attends me wherever I go.” 

“ Oh, do not say that I” cried Frau Brigitta, seizing 
Ernestine’s hand, “ but it seems to me — forgive a simple 
old woman for speaking so plainly to you — it seems to 
me that a lady so beautiful and richly endowed as you 
are, ought not to live here so lonely and secluded. My 
husband and I often say, ‘ What a pity it is that such 
a splendid creature should bury herself alive I’ It cer- 
tainly is unnatural; and what is natural is sure to be 
best !” 

Ernestine was silent, and sat with eyes cast down. 

“ I too must say,” said Leonhardt timidly, “ that you 
are not in your right place here. Did you ever see the 
statue of a renowned philosopher or artist set up in the 
midst of a village ? Certainly not ; for the village boys 
would pelt it with mud, — no one would understand its 
value,— it would be merely a doll, at which every one 
would laugh, and to deface which would be considered a 
very good joke. And will you, Fraulein Hartwich, in 
the bloom of life, with all your refinement of mind, vol- 
untarily expose yourself to the same fate that would 
await such a statue were it erected here, for the purpose 
of inspiring this rude people with ennobling ideas? 
Surely you cannot answer to yourself for such a course 
of life I” 


198 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Ernestine gazed attentively at the old man^s faded but 
still noble countenance. His address was so different from 
what she had expected from a simple village schoolmaster, 
that she was greatly astonished at it. It stimulated her 
to reply to him. 

“ I understand your comparison, Herr Leonhardt, and 
am greatly honoured by it, but, — forgive me for saying 
so, — it does not seem to me quite correct. I know of 
no village where statues either of Christ or the Madonna 
are not erected, and the rudest peasant pays them rever- 
ence, — because he appreciates the idea that they embody. 
Could we only breathe a sympathy with other than reli- 
gious ideas into the minds of this neglected class, the 
representatives of such ideas would also receive the same 
reverence.” 

Frau Leonhardt was a little troubled by the turn the 
conversation had taken ; for, as a faithful servant will 
listen to no slighting remarks concerning those whom he 
serves, she, as a true servant of her Lord and Saviour, dis- 
approved of Fraulein von Hartwich’s mode of speaking of 
Him, and thought it scarcely becoming in a good Chris- 
tian to listen to such talk. But her husband, with modest 
tact, put an end to her anxiety. “ I have myself,” said 
he, “ thought of what you say, but it seems to me to be 
an entirely different matter. The people honour in these 
statues not ideas, but persons, — and the holiest and high- 
est persons that they can conceive of, — the persons of 
their God and his saints. As we take delight in the 
pictures of distant relatives, whom we may never have 
seen, perhaps, but whom we honour and cherish for the 
sake of what we know of them, so, a thousand times more 
so, do the people honour what speaks to them of the eter- 
nally invisible Father of all ! This sentiment, Fraulein von 
Hartwich, seems to me widely different from the admira- 
tion that a comprehension of the great ideas of to-day 
might awaken in the minds of the people. We are not 
yet far enough advanced to say how it may be, — and who 
knows whether we ever shall advance so far as to be 
able to elevate those classes who labour for us that we 
may think for them, and who desire nothing at present 
for their happiness but their plough and their God ? 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


199 


What they really need now, in my opinion, is that their 
God should not be represented to them as an angry, 
avenging Jehovah, but as the loving, redeeming God 
of Christianity I To return to my simile, — with re- 
gard to yourself, Fraulein von Hartwich, let me repeat 
that you can only be in your true place where your 
efforts and ideas are understood and you can grace a ped- 
estal that becomes you. Then you will be truly happy, 
and far more easily brought into communion with your 
Creator than while you are embittered by the religious 
error and intolerance prevailing around you here. The 
people are hostile to you, because they believe you hostile 
to what they hold most sacred, — their religion. Whoever, 
in their eyes, stands aloof from Christian fellowship, stands 
aloof from mankind, — ceases to be a creature of flesh and 
blood. And if they do not see condign punishment 
quickly overtake such a one, whom they regard as the 
chief of sinners, they believe that she must be under the 
protection not of God, but of the other power in their 
theology, — the devil ! Forgive my frankness. I say 
nothing of their childish misconception of God’s tender 
long-suffering. I only feel it my duty to show you the 
impassable gulf that lies between you and your surround- 
ings. You are such a thorn in the side not only of the 
Catholic priest, but also of the evangelical pastor of our 
diocese, that he attempted to procure from the Protest- 
ant consistory a decree of banishment against you on 
account of your writings, and, failing in this, he has de- 
termined to drive you from this place, at all costs, by 
unceasing perseciition His Catholic associate seconds 
him, as you yourself know, most zealously, and I wish 
to save you, by timely warning, from all that, unfortu- 
nately, still threatens you here.” 

He paused, and endeavoured to observe with his dim 
eyes the effect of his words upon Ernestine’s impassive 
features. Her look was still riveted on the ground, and 
she said nothing, so he respectfully took her hand, say- 
ing, “ Dear Fraulein von Hartwich, forgive me if I am 
too bold and have wounded you. I am a plain man, 
ignorant of the forms of polite society, grown old among 
peasants, and accustomed to speak out my thoughts 


200 


ONLY A GIRL; 


openly. I hold truth to be my first duty, but it would 
pain me to think that, in fulfilling this duty, I had unin- 
tentionally wounded you I’^ 

“Dear, dear! — yes! — oh, yes!” ejaculated his kindly 
old wife, really distressed by the inscrutable expression 
upon Ernestine’s face. 

Suddenly the latter started up, shook the old people by 
the hand, and said gravely but cordially, — 

“ Thank you, thank you, Herr Leonhardt. You are a 
good man !” 

“ Oh, my dear, good Fraulein von Hartwich !” cried 
Frau Brigitta with emotion. 

“ I must go home now,” said Ernestine, covering her 
black braids with her hat, “ but I will see you soon 
again. Farewell !” 

When the old couple had accompanied her to the door, 
and followed her with their eyes as she walked away 
apparently lost in thought, they both remembered for 
the first time that she had not alluded in any way to 
Johannes. 

“ How strange I” said the schoolmaster, as he went for 
his garden-shears to trim the luxuriant hedge before his 
house. 


CHAPTER lY. 

THE GUARDIAN. 

When, on the evening of the same day, Leuthold 
returned from town, he heard that Ernestine could not 
see him, — she was not well, and had retired to her room. 
Slowly and cautiously he sought her study, and there 
attempted to find what and how much his ward had 
accomplished during the day. To his astonishment, he 
found nothing. He slipped into the laboratory, and there 
lay everything just as it had been left the day before. 
Nothing had been touched. What did it mean ? It was 
the first day for years that had been passed by Ernestine 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


201 


in idleness. Then, creeping along the corridors with the 
stealthy step of a cat, he sought Frau Willmers. She, 
too, was just about going to bed, and looked very sleepy 
when Leuthold, fixing a searching glance upon her, asked, 
“What has Fraulein von Hartwich been doing to-day?” 

Frau Willmers yawned : she needed an instant for 
reflection. “ Fraulein von Hartwich has been quite un- 
well to-day,” she replied. 

“ Indeed 1 what was the matter with her ?” 

“Why, just what is always the matter, more or less. 
Heart- beat, faintness, headache. Is it any wonder, con- 
sidering the way she is always at work? She could hardly 
hold up her head to-day ” 

“ Has any one been here ?” 

“Not a soul : who could ” 

“No letters ?” 

“ Two for you, Herr Professor, and one for Fraulein 
von Hartwich from the schoolmaster.” 

“ What did he want?” 

“ He asked for sofne linen-cambric rags for his weak 
eyes. She took him some.” 

“She herself? Why?” 

“ She was tired because she could not study, and she 
wanted to see Herr Leonhardt’s eyes. She thought she 
might learn something from them.” 

“ Very well, — that will do. Good-night, Frau Will- 
mers.” 

“ Good-night, Herr Professor,” said the cunning house- 
keeper, hastening to tell Ernestine how slyly she had 
managed matters and contrived to pay due honour to 
truth by mixing up some of it with her falsehoods. 

Ernestine sat in an easy-chair, her eyes fixed upon the 
flame of the lamp. A book lay open in her lap, — “Ander- 
sen’s Fairy Tales.” 

She could not smile at what Frau Willmers told her. 
There was something in it that filled her with uneasiness. 
For the first time since she had lived with her uncle, she 
felt that she was a prisoner, watched and guarded as such. 
She was obliged to conceal, as if it were a crime, the fact 
that she had become acquainted with a true, noble human 
being. She had to account on the plea of interest in sci- 


202 


ONLY A GIRL; 


ence for visiting a poor suffering man. The lie disgraced 
her, and the necessity that had prompted it was a galling 
chain I All this she felt to-day for the first time. One 
day had aroused within her the longing for independence ! 
— the greatest misfortune that could have befallen her 
unsuspecting uncle, but not the only one that this day 
was to bring him. 

When he went to his room, he found there the letters 
of which Frau Willmers had told him. The first that 
he took up he opened instantly. It was from his daugh- 
ter Gretchen, and ran thus: 

“My dearest Father : 

“In a week I shall be fifteen years old, and next month 
my course here will be finished, and I shall be fitted to 
take my place in the school as a teacher. Once more I 
turn to you and entreat you, dear father, let me come 
home to you I I will not be any burden to you. My 
teachers will tell you that I know enough to enable a 
young girl to earn her own living. I thank and bless 
you a thousand times,Mearest father, for having me edu- 
cated to be a useful member of society. I will be my 
cousin’s maid, and work for her for my support, if I may 
only be near you ! Oh, I pray you yield to my entrea- 
ties I You have always answered my request by telling 
me that her bad example — her irreligion and hardness 
of heart — would have a ruinous effect upon me. But 
indeed, dear father, this could not be. Thanks to my 
good, kind teachers, I am so firm in my faith, I have 
been so well trained, that this one bad example could 
not have any effect upon me, especially when I should 
daily see how my poor father suffers in discharging his 
guardianship of so stubborn a creature. Why did my 
dead uncle Hartwich bequeath to you such a thankless 
office ? Indeed, dearest father, it would be easier if you 
would let me help you. I would leave nothing untried 
to soften her heart and turn it to good, and, however 
angry she might be with me, I would disarm her by pa- 
tience and submission ; and, even although I could have 
no effect upon her, I could be something to you, dear 
father. Oh, how heavenly it would be to sit alone together 
in your room after the day’s work was finished I I could 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


203 


sit at your feet and show you my sketches and drawings, 
drinking draughts from the rich treasures of your mind 
and cheering you with my ever-ready nonsense. And 
sometimes I could lean my head upon your heart, that 
no one understands as well as the child to whom you 
have shown all its depths of tenderness, and sleep as 
peacefully as in those dear childish days when you cradled 
me in your arms with all a mother’s care 1 Oh, father, 
you are everything in the world to me I My mother, 
who forsook me when I was so young — who left you for 
another so immeasurably your inferior, I do not know — 
I can form no image of her, unlovely as she must be, in 
my mind. You are mother, father, everything, to me I 
My cradle stood by your bedside; your eyes smiled 
upon me when I awoke. You never spoke a harsh word 
to me, you never looked unkindly at me. You treated 
the wayward child, who must so often have vexed you, 
with unvarying gentleness and patience ; and at last you 
sent me from you, that I might be thoroughly trained 
and educated, since it is our fate to earn our daily bread. 
You sent me from you, but I saw plainly, when we 
parted, that this was the greatest sacrifice of all, — that I 
carried away your whole heart with me. You did it for 
me, — out of affection for me. You have given me up now 
for almost seven years, and I have worked and studied 
as hard as I could, so that I might soon be with you 
again ; and now, when I have learned enough to be able 
to repay you a very little for all that you have done and 
suffered for me, you refuse to let me fly to your dear 
arms, for fear of the miserable influence of your ward. 
Father, you will — you must — hear and heed me. The 
tears that blotted your last letter to me fell hot into my 
very soul. They were tears of longing — do not deny it — 
for your child, and I will never rest until you give heed 
to your own heart I Ah, father dear, you will be pleased 
when you see me I I am taller and stronger than our 
governess I Every one says I am very tall for my age — 
I might be taken for eighteen years old 1 When we go 
to walk together, you will have to give me your arm I 
Ah, what a delight that will be ! I shall be too proud to 
touch the ground 1 and, depend upon it, I shall be able to 


204 


ONLY A GIRL; 


do something with Ernestine 1 She never used to be 
cross to me as a child; I cannot think how she can have 
altered so. How could she become so changed with such 
a guardian? In spirit I kiss his dear, kind hands! Happy 
girl! — to have my father for a teacher! Shall I not 
grudge her a happiness of which she has proved herself 
so unworthy ? Yes ; I do grudge it her ! I do not envy 
her for her talents or her wealth, but I do envy her for 
my father! — I must envy her for that! You give her 
your time — your care ; you devote yourself to her, and 
let your own child grow up far away from you, among 
strangers,— your own child, — who would give all that she 
possesses for one look from her father’s eyes ! ” 

Leuthold could read no further. He writhed like a 
worm on the ground beneath the weight of reproach 
with which this artless creature thus heaped him. The 
thunderbolt of a god could have inflicted no such pun- 
ishment upon him as the pure, sweet, angelic love of his 
child. 

He sunk upon his knees, and kissed the letter again and 
again. “ My child ! my child!” he cried aloud, racked 
almost to madness by intense feverish longing. At this 
moment of weakness he was overwhelmed with re- 
morse. He had banished from his side his dearest pos- 
session, — his Gretchen. And why ? Because he loved 
her too dearly to expose her to contact with the ideas 
that he sought to impress upon the mind of his ward, — 
because he would not allow his child to breathe the 
poisoned atmosphere of falsehood in which he chose that 
Ernestine should dwell. And why had he thus chosen ? 
Because he loved Gretchen too much to have her always 
poor and dependent, because he determined to win back 
the inheritance that he had once thought his own, but 
which had been so unexpectedly lost to him, and because 
there was only one way, in his mind, in which this could 
be done, — by making the possessor of this inheritance so 
utterly unfit for the world that nothing might wrest her 
person or her property from his grasp. 

But, when he received such a letter as the above, 
overflowing with the devoted love, the pain at separation, 
of his exiled child, something stirred in his breast that 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


205 


would not be quieted, demanding whether he might not 
have expressed his paternal love in another way, whether 
it were not a desecration of this angel to attempt to 
make her future happy by a crime ? Whether the joy 
of educating such a child himself would not have out- 
weighed the wealth of the world ? And then he began 
to reckon and compare, — and the account was never 
balanced, — for the years of separation from his daughter 
there was no equivalent. These were rare hours when, 
like a criminal before his judge, he was arraigned in spirit 
before the pure eyes of his child; but they cost him 
months of life. 

His hair had grown grey, — his powers of mind were 
enfeebled by all these years of self-control and hypocrisy, — 
of crime and dread of discovery. He had nothing to hope 
for for himself — but for Gretchen ? And what if he had 
failed in his reckoning ? What if a mischievous chance 
should again deprive him at the last moment of the fruit 
of all this sacrifice ? The path of sin had separated him 
from his daughter hitherto. Was it possible that it could 
ever lead him to her ? 

His high, narrow forehead was covered with a cold dew 
as he passed his hand over it. He was indeed to be 
pitied, — a man who had not the courage to be wholly 
good nor wholly badl 

The night breeze blew fresh through the open window, 
and the miserable man was thoroughly chilled. He arose, 
wrapped himself in his shawl, closed the window, and 
went to the table where lay the other letter. It was 
directed in the handwriting of the overseer of the Unken- 
heim Factory. Leuthold put it down — he had not the 
courage to read it. “ What can he have to tell me he 
moaned, utterly dispirited. 

At last he roused himself. “ What must be, must I” 

He unfolded the coarse paper and read — while his face 
grew ashy pale. 

** Unkenheim, July 30, 18 — . 

“ Honoured Sir : 

“You should have believed me when I told you that 
there was nothing to be done with bringing the water 
from that miserable spring. Twenty years ago you placed 

18 


206 


ONLY A GIRL; 


me at the head of this factory, and I think I have shown 
that I understand my business. It is a ruinous thing to 
conduct such a huge undertaking from a distance. I told 
you so when you got back the factory again, but ^ou 
never believe what I say. If the business had been al- 
lowed to proceed as usual, we should have made a sure, 
although small, profit from it. But you were in such a 
devil of a hurry to make the capital yield a hundred per 
cent., because you were always afraid lest your ward 
should smell a rat and require her own again, — ^r lest 
she should marry, and you would have to render an ac- 
count to some suspicious husband, who would be less 
forbearing even than Fraulein Ernestine. Therefore these 
giant speculations were set on foot, and everything was 
to be accomplished in the twinkling of an eye I told 
you we had not sufficient sewerage for such an enormous 
enlargement. Then you never rested until that expensive 
drain was dug, and we very soon found that it had too 
little incline and the refuse all stuck fast in it. Then you 
thought we could carry it off by a stream of water turned 
into the drain. More money was spent, and again spent 
in vain. The dry summer had exhausted the spring, — 
it was always small, and now it has entirely disappeared. 
The large supply of raw material, not yet paid for, can- 
not be worked up, for the villagers are beginning to talk 
again of ‘ poisoning the springs,’ and the drain has begun 
to leak. If the necessary amount of water cannot be 
procured, I shall be prosecuted, and then nothing will 
shield either you or me from discovery. The people al- 
ready think it strange that the Italian gentleman, who 
pretended to buy the factory by your advice, has disap- 
peared. It is whispered about that he is not the real 
owner, and Heaven only knows what it all means. We 
have, therefore, more need of caution than ever I 

“ There is nothing for it but to face the worst and con- 
tinue the aqueduct to the forest, — then we shall be safe. 
Digging ditches and hunting for springs is of no use, — 
more money is frittered away so than in large under- 
takings. I do not know what cash you have on hand ; if 
you have not enough to lengthen the aqueduct, in a few 
weeks you will be bankrupt. It will not be my fault 1 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


m 


“ I have no more money for the workmen’s wages, — and 
it would be well, now that work must be suspended for a 
time, to pay them up. It might keep them in good hu- 
mour. I kuow that you will vent all your anger upon 
me again, but I tell you I will put up with nothing 
more. I was an honest man until you tempted me and 
made me your accomplice. Still, I have not played the 
rogue to you, my principal, although I have, more’s the 
pity, made myself amenable to the law. You have gone 
on just like Herr Neuenstein, who became bankrupt too, 
because he would not listen to me ; but he was an hon- 
ourable man, and paid up every penny that he owed, so 
that he was not afraid to look any one in the face. If 
you fail, you drag down your ward, whose money you 
have been using, with you, — and me too, — poor devil that 
I am ! There is truth in the proverb ‘ Ill-gotten gains 
never prosper.’ God help me I 

Yours, etc., 

“ Clemens Prucker, 

“ Over seer. 

It was too much. “ My child I my child ! I have sinned, 
forged, embezzled, for your sake, in vain I Can you be 
sufficiently proud of such a father?” he moaned, — his 
head fell back in his chair, and he lost consciousness. 

The day had dawned when he -opened his eyes ; the 
atmosphere was full of the disagreeable odour of the 
dying candles, his limbs were stiff and numb from his 
uneasy posture, and he was shivering with cold. When 
he tried to walk, his hands and feet were asleep, and he 
staggered like a drunken man. At last his eyes lighted 
upon the letters. He picked them up and went to his 
writing-table. There he put them away in a secret 
drawer, then drew forth a safe and investigated its con- 
tents. It contained certificates of stock and some rolls 
of ready money. 

The sun shone brightly into the room, and still the pale 
man sat there counting and calculating. At last he put 
all the contents of the safe into a leather travelling-bag. 
Then he rang the bell and ordered the servant, who ap- 
peared, to have the carriage brought round and to pack 


208 


ONLY A GIRL; 


up for him sufficient clothes to last during a journey of 
several days. 

When he heard that his niece had arisen, he went to 
her. “ Good-morning, Ernestine,” said he. “ How are 
you to-day 

“ I should put that question to you, uncle,” she replied. 
“ You look as if you had just arisen from the grave 1” 

“ Oh, there is nothing the matter with me. I did not 
sleep much. The overseer at Unkenheim writes to me 
on the part of my Italian friend, begging me to come as 
soon as possible to the factory, where everything is going 
wrong. I think it my duty to do what I can in the mat- 
ter, as I know all about the business, and unfortunately 
advised my friend to make the purchase.” 

“ Are you going, then ?” asked Ernestine, with a feeling 
of secret delight that she could not explain to herself. 

“ Yes, I must leave you for a few days, hard as it is 
for me. But promise me before I go that you will Lave 
that treatise that you are at work upon completed by my 
return. Let nothing prevent you from finishing it. If 
you feel unwell, — you know that is of no real conse- 
quence, — you can readily overcome all your ailments by 
resolutely willing to do so. Take quinine, if you must. 
Now may I rely upon finding the essay complete when 
I see you again ?” 

‘‘ Yes, uncle, I promise ; and if I do not keep my word, 
it will be for the first time in my life.” 

Farewell, then, my child, — I must hurry to catch the 
train. Let nothing interrupt you, — do you hear ?— 
nothing I” 

He hurried out, and sought the housekeeper. “ Frau 
Willniers,” he said, “ I rely on you to prevent Friiulein 
von Hartwich from receiving any visitors, be they who 
they may. If I find, upon my return, that you have 
permitted the least infringement of my orders, you may 
consider yourself dismissed. I cannot tell you when I 
shall return. Conduct yourself so that you need not 
fear my arrival, for it may take place at any moment.” 

“ Rely upon me entirely, Herr Professor,” replied Frau 
Willmers ; and Leuthold got hastily into his vehicle. 

“Now, that sly master of mine thinks all is secure, 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


209 


and that he has the heart of a girl of two-and-twenty under 
lock and key. How stupid these clever folks often are I” 
After this fashion Frau Willmers soliloquized, as her 
master drove off. 


CHAPTER V. 

FRUITLESS PRETENSIONS. 

“ Your new dress-coat has come from the tailor’s,” was 
Frau Herbert’s greeting to her husband, upon his entrance. 

“ Indeed 1 where is it ?” he asked gruffly. 

“ In the next room, on the bed.” 

“ On the bed 1” her husband snapped out. “ So that it 
may be covered with lint? How careless I” 

Frau Herbert looked down, and was silent. Herbert 
hurried into the next room to rescue his slighted property. 

Professor Herbert’s dwelling-room was rather small 
and low, but there appeared, at a cursory glance, an air 
of elegance about it. The chairs and lounges were cov- 
ered with fine woollen stuff, the curtains were richly em- 
broidered, and an elegant cabinet, with mirrored doors, 
closely locked, apparently contained silver plate. Upon a 
closer inspection, however, the furniture was found to be 
stuffed with straw, the curtains were shabby, with the 
holes in them not even dacned, and the cabinet contained 
only broken household-utensils, with the remains of the 
previous meal, locked up there to be safe from the hungry 
servant-maid. Even the arm-chair by the window, occu- 
pied by Frau Herbert, evidently an invalid, was as hard 
as a stone. The only thing in the room of real and 
decided value was a collection of old English copper- 
plates that decorated the walls of the apartment, repre- 
senting scenes from Shakspeare’s plays and Roman his- 
tory. These old pictures were one of Professor Herbert’s 
fancies ; and he belonged to that class of men with whom 
the necessities of a wife and of the household are never 

18* 


210 


ONLY A GIRL; 


considered in comparison with the gratification of their 
fancies. 

Frau Herbert was one of those unfortunate women 
who, in the consciousness that they are burdens to their 
husbands, believe themselves called to endure every- 
thing, even the grossest injustice, with meekness, and 
who hold it their duty to entreat forgiveness of their 
lords and masters for continuing to exist at all. The 
sight of that quiet woman, with her sad face, upon which 
pain had ploughed deep furrows, sitting at the window 
mending the straw-coloured gloves in which her husband 
was, in the evening, to play the part of an aesthetic ex- 
quisite, while she lay suffering at home, would instantly 
suggest the complete picture of an unhappy wife tied to 
the side of a cold-blooded egotist. 

“Poor Professor Herbert!” people were wont to say, 
“ what a misfortune it is for a man to have such an in- 
valid wife I” 

But a closer observer of the pair would have said, 
“What a misfortune for an invalid wife to have such a 
husband !” 

The miserable woman, however, had no such thought; 
she would gladly have died, — not only to be free from suf- 
fering, but that her husband might be rid of her presence. 
In her inmost heart she despised his selfishness and want 
of feeling. She knew that a worthier man would have 
had consideration for her and patience with her, as her 
burden was surely the heavier ; but she was too much 
afraid of her husband to put such thoughts in words, 
even to her own mind. Suffering that is incessant, and 
that undermines the physical frame, must gradually 
weaken the mind; and thus the only strength of the 
hapless wife consisted in hopeless endurance. 

Professor Herbert entered in his new coat, and sur- 
veyed himself attentively in the large mirror. 

“ It fits well, — does it not ?” he asked. 

“ Very well! but it is very expensive.” 

“ Did the bill come with it ?” 

“ Here it is.” 

“ Oh, that is not so bad. Hecht is certainly the best 
tailor in the city.” 


OR A PETSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


211 


A shade of bitter feeling passed across his wife’s face 
and she could not refrain from saying, “When I recollect 
that you lately refused to let me have the shawl I so 
needed, that did not cost half so much, and ” 

“ The money for your dress all goes to the apothecary, 
my dear,” Herbert replied, with a sneer. 

“My dress!” his wife repeated, — “you would be 
ashamed to walk in the street with me, — my clothes are 
so shabby.” 

“ No one expects much elegance from an invalid whose 
illness costs her husband so much money.” 

Frau Herbert cast a glance at her husband, but she 
said not a word more. For one moment she leaned 
her weary head against the back of her chair, but the 
position was too uncomfortable, and she resumed her 
work, thinking with pain how the physician had imper- 
atively recommended her to procure a more comfortable 
chair, in which she could sleep sitting up, — but now 
this small luxury, as well as all the rest, had been denied 
her I 

Suddenly the door opened, and in rustled and fluttered 
a creature half child, half old maid, — half butterfly, half 
bat. Around her head floated a mass of very light curls. 
A nez retrousse gave to her face a naive air of youthful- 
ness, which, however, the crafty, eager expression of 
her small eyes contradicted. Just so her teeth, short and 
wide apart, resembled those of a young child who has 
shed his first set, while the wrinkles about her thin, 
open lips indicated an age of thirty years at least. The 
figure, crowned by this strange head with its huge mane 
of curls, was delicate and slender as that of a half-grown 
girl. Her hands were small, but wrinkled like those of 
an old woman. She was dressed in thin, flowing gar- 
ments, — her round straw hat was adorned by long, light- 
brown ribbons. Her gait, bearing, and address were 
light, airy, sylph-like. It was evident at the first glance 
that she was a creature who believed herself highly poetic, 
richly gifted, breathing a charmed atmosphere, and that 
although she might in reality be thirty years old she had 
in imagination never passed sweet sixteen. Such a creat- 
ure is only conceivable with a sheet of music or a sketch- 


212 


ONLY A GIRL; 


book in her hand ; and, in obedience to a mysterious law 
of nature, this too was not wanting in the present in- 
stance. “ Brother, darling I” she cried, skipping up to 
Herbert, “ how charming you are in your new coat 1 Aha, 
are you going to the Mollner’s reception this evening ? 
Yes 1” Trilling a little air, she laid aside her book, hat, 
and gloves. “ Tra-la-la-la — oh, I am so happy to-day 
I cannot talk, I can only sing.” And she hummed the 
refrain of the charming song by Taubert, “I know not 
why, but sing I must I” Then she remembered that she 
had not yet spoken to her brother’s wife. “ Oh, dear 
IJlrika, forgive me for not asking how you are. No better 
yet ? Ah 1 your little Elsa is so agitated to-day 1 I feel — 
I can’t tell how — my bosom heaves and thrills as with 
the breath of May 1 I must go to my work. To-day I 
feel sure, in my present frame of mind, I must create 
something 1” 

And she was about to hover away to the blissful re- 
tirement of her own room, when Herbert, who had mean- 
while exchanged his new coat for a light summer sacque, 
cried after her, “Stay here a moment, and speak at least 
one sensible word before you go.” 

She paused. 

“What are you going to attempt now? I am really 
afraid to trust you by yourself.” 

She skipped up to her brother again and roguishly 
laid her finger on his lips, looking archly in his eyes. 
“ Dearest brother, I shall surprise you ! I have an idea I’^ 

“ Pray cease your folly for the present. You do not 
want to flirt with your brother, I hope ? Tell me, what 
is your idea ? If it is good for anything, it will be the 
first of its kind that you have ever had in your head.” 

“ Oh, you discourteous brother I” pouted the fair indig- 
nant, “ to grieve your sister so I But, since you bid me, 
I will obey you, and give you a glimpse into the trans- 
parent depths of an artist’s soul. Every maiden must 
practise the sweet duty of obedience, that she may one 
day gladden a husband’s heart by her submission.” 

“Well, well, to the point 1” cried Herbert impatiently. 

Elsa bashfully cast down her eyes, and, stammering 
with the charming embarrassment of an artistic nature, 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


213 


said, “When, a few days ago, I asked Professor Mollner 
what lady author was his favourite, he answered me in 
jest, ‘ She who has written the best cookery book 1’ I 
am going to show the mocking man that I can do that 
too. Oh, how amazed he will be when he finds that the 
wealth of fancy in my soul can beautify and transfigure 
what is so prosaic I This it is that he deems the charm 
of womanhood, — the power to seize and moLild to beauty 
the commonplace and sordid. I am going to publish a 
cookery book in verse, with illustrations, and entitle it 
‘ The German Wife at the Hearth of Home.’ Only think 
what splendid initial letters and arabesques I can have I 
I will show that a bunch of parsley can be as gracefully 
arranged as roses or violets. Such lovely green borders 
to the pages must always be beautiful, whether composed 
of parsley, lettuce, or sorrel ; and, if a warmer colour is 
desirable, I will paint a couple of blushing radishes 
peeping, half hidden, from among the leaves, and there 
you have as perfect a picture as any of our famous artistes 
have produced of Spring. Is not the meanest kitchen- 
stufif the work of the Creator, and as beautiful as any 
other of his creations ? And there can be such variety 
in the volume. For example, the chapter of receipts for 
cooking fish can have a title-page of its own, after the 
style of the engravings in Schleiden’s ‘Wonders of the 
Deep.’ Beneath a placid crystal lake may be seen 
sporting together all the fish alluded to in the ensuing 
chapter. Branches of coral are wreathed in and out, and, 
illuminated by the rosy light of the setting sun, water- 
lilies float upon the calm surface of the water. Every 
chapter will have a suitable title-page, displaying in its na- 
tive element the animal to be cooked, — game in the forest, 
fleeing from the pursuing huntsman and hounds, — the 
dove hovering above the ark, with the olive-branch in 
her beak, — domestic fowls, in the Dutch style, cooped in 
their accustomed poultry yard. Fruit and vegetables can 
be treated as still-life, in arabesques, and decorating the 
margins of single recipes. At the end of the book a 
picture representing a family seated at dinner. Over their 
heads, in gothic letters, the line, ‘ Lord Jesus, come and 
be our guest.’ And, in pursuance of this invitation, he 


214 


ONLY A GIRL; 


must be seated at the head of the table, in the midst of a 
brilliant halo of glory. On either side of the table sit 
the children, and at the foot the happy husband and wife, 
each offering food to the other. Angels are in attendance 
upon the able, — the angels of harmony, peace, and con- 
tent. The wife sits with her face turned from the specta- 
tor, but the husband — and this is the grand point — the 
husband will be a portrait!” 

She paused, carried away by her poetic dreams, and 
by the thought of the immense success that the book 
must command. 

“Well, and whom is the portrait to represent? — me, 
perhaps ?” asked Herbert with a sneer. 

“You? Oh, no. Ah, rogue! can you not guess? 
Heavens ! do not look at me so, — you know whom I 
mean !” 

“Mdllner?” asked her brother. 

“ Yes, — you have guessed it. Oh, when I think of the 
smile that will play around that proud mouth as he be- 
holds his portrait drawn by my hand, as he sees how his 
image is present with me e ’■'’•y where in all that I think 
and do ! Oh, it will, it must oouch him 1” 

“ Yes, it will touch him uncommonly,” remarked Her- 
bert ; “ and there will be a charming scene when he 
presents his inamorata, the Hartwich, with the work, that 
she may learn cookery from it. Do not' forget to add a 
receipt for broiling frogs’ legs, by which she can dress the 
frogs that they use together for their physiological ex- 
periments.” 

“ Oh, Edmund !” exclaimed Elsa, startled and a little 
vexed, “ your words are full of wormwood to-day. Go, — 
your caustic wit destroys all my flowers of fancy. This 
is why I always avoid you when I am about to begin a 
work. What pleasure can it give you to thrust me from 
my paradise ? Is it right ? Let the soul that can find 
no home on this rude earth seek it in brighter realms.” 

And she raised her eyes to the ceiling, and laid her 
wrinkled little hand upon her breast. “ Mine is a modest, 
shrinking soul, — its childlike trust and hope are all that 
I possess. Dear brother, do not you rob me of them, as 
long as no other hand snatches them from me.” 


OR A ' PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


215 


“ But you must find out at last that your hopes are 
vain, and therefore I wish to warn you, that you may not 
make yourself ridiculous by an untimely parade of your 
feelings. I know, from the most trustworthy sources, 
that Mdllner has been to Hochstetten to see the Hart- 
wich, and that he spent two hours with her. Rhyme 
that with his enthusiasm for her at the meeting the other 
day, and complete the verse yourself.’’ 

Elsa looked down and thought for a minute or two, 
then she sighed and shook her flowing mane, saying, 
“ No, it cannot, cannot be I That man-woman may ex- 
cite his curiosity, she cannot win his heart ! No, no, 
Elsa has no fear that Lohengriin will be misled by Ort- 
rude I And now to work, that the day may soon come 
when he will ask, ‘ Elsa, whose is the face of the wife 
who sits at table by my side V Then I shall avert my 
face and reply, ‘That you know best.’ Oh, darling 
brother I dearest sister 1 he will turn my blushing counte- 
nance to him then, and say, ‘ This is her face !’ Oh, I 
must go : the breath of spring is wafted towards me from 
my studio. Yes, yes, I feel that the Muses await me 
there.” With these words she rustled and fluttered away 
to her room. 

Frau Herbert looked after her with a sad, almost a 
compassionate, glance. “ Tell me, Edmund,” she said to 
her husband, “did you ever for one moment believe that 
such a man as Mollner would marry that girl ?” 

“ Why not ? There are many more unequal matches 
made every day : the only thing is to manoeuvre the 
matter skilfully. If poor Elsa had as managing a mother 
as you were blessed with, the affair would certainly not 
be beyond the bounds of possibility. But the poor thing 
has no one to help her but myself, and we men are 
clumsier at match-making than the most stupid of 
women.” 

Frau Herbert looked pained and crushed by this attack 
upon her mother and herself. She thought it, however, 
beneath her dignity to reply to it. She only said very 
quietly, “ I am glad, Edmund, that there is one creature 
in the world for whom you have some regard, or even 
blind affection. Well, she is your sister. I, too, love 


216 


ONLY A GIRL; 


the poor thing, but I cannot believe that she will ever 
succeed in kindling one spark of interest in Mdllner’s 
breast.” 

“You have always regarded her with jaundiced eyes,” 
Herbert went on to say. “ You talk as though she were a 
monster. She is no longer young, but there is still some- 
thing youthful about her. She is not, it is true, a genius, 
but her nature is really artistic. She is not pretty, but an 
enthusiast like Mollner is more observant of inner graces 
than physical beauty, and he cannot fail to be impressed 
by her beauty of soul. It certainly is true that he 
always distinguishes her in society. Does he not always 
take her to supper when she is unprovided with an escort, 
as is usually the case ? When all the others avoid her, 
is not Mollner sure to sit and talk with her ? Such a 
conscientious prig as Mollner would not do that unless he 
had some object in view ; and if she has no other charm 
for him, her undisguised admiration of him would attract 
him to her, for he has a due amount of vanity, and every 
one must take pleasure in being so fanatically adored. 
If it were not for that confounded Hartwich, who knows 
how far he might be brought ! But I will be revenged 
upon her, she may rely upon thatl” 

“Why visit your anger upon the innocent? How can 
it be this stranger’s fault that Mollner is more interested 
by her genius than by our Elsa’s sentimental dilettanteism, 
her perpetual attempts and failures? His courtesy to 
her in society always seemed to me prompted by his 
humanity. She certainly makes herself very ridiculous, — 
you must see that; and a man of Mdllner’s kindly, chiv- 
alric character cannot permit an innocent, harmless girl 
to be made sport of, and, accordingly, he constitutes him- 
self her protector, and tries generously to indemnify her 
for the neglect of others. He does not dream that Elsa’s 
vanity builds all kinds of schemes upon his conduct, or 
he would never forgive himself ” 

“ Enough, enough I” Herbert interrupted her angrily. 
“I cannot see how, with the pain in your face, you man- 
age to talk so much. I can understand that Elsa is dis- 
agreeable to you because I have educated her, but I 
cannot understand how, tied to your invalid chair as you 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


2n 


are, you have contrived to fall in love with this Mdllner. 
Indeed, if I had not had hopes of marrying him to my 
sister, I should have broken with the arrogant pedant 
long ago, for I hate him as much as you women, old and 
young, adore him.’’ 

Frau Herbert looked with a quiet, thoughtful expression 
at the speaker, who had worked himself into a violent 
rage, and then she silently resumed her work, suppressing 
the words that rose to her lips, — for she possessed the 
rare talent of knowing when to be silent. 

Herbert waited for some minutes for a reply which 
might afford him further opportunity for venting his 
spleen, but, receiving none, he turned away, and was 
about to seek his study. 

Just then there was a knock at the door, and the post- 
man entered, with a thick square parcel in his hand. 
Herbert grew pale at sight of it, and his wife too looked 
sad and sorry. 

“ Your manuscript?” she asked. 

“My manuscript,” he said, writing his name in the 
mail-book with an unsteady hand. 

“ There’s a gulden and twenty-four kreutzers to pay,” 
said the messenger. 

V So much ?” growled Herbert, counting out the money 
carefully by groschen and kreutzers. When the man 
had left the room, Herbert hastily tore open the envelope, 
and a letter appeared, which he hurriedly looked through 
and handed to his wife with a look of despair. The letter 
was from the manager of the royal court theatre at 
X , and ran thus : 

“ To Herr Professor Herbert, of X : 

“ I am greatly concerned, sir, to be obliged to return 
you your tragedy of ‘ Penthesilea,’ as it presents insur- 
mountable difficulties for scenic representation. The se- 
crecy enjoined upon me shall be inviolably preserved. 

“ With great respect, etc., 

Frau Herbert looked up with a sigh at her husband, 
who stood pale and trembling beside her. 

19 


218 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ There goes my last hope,” he said, tearing up the 
letter. “ I forgave all the other managers and directors 
for sending back the manuscript, for they are incapable 
of appreciating the value of such a work. But no one 

can accuse a man like W of not appreciating genuine 

art, and if he refuses to bring it out he must be actuated ^ 
by envy. However that may be, in these lines he has ’ 
written his own death-warrant.” He raised his hand 
containing the crushed letter with something like solem- 
nity, and continued: “ 1 now declare war upon the Ger- 
man stage and its supporters. If I have nothing to hope, 

I have nothing to fear. I have written six tragedies for 
the waste-paper basket. I will not write another. Having 
nothing to fear, I may allow myself the delight of revenge. 
Criticism is an all-embracing friend, affording a sure re- 
fuge for every one who is misunderstood and depreciated. 

1 will throw myself into its arms from this moment. Our 
public is degenerate. I give up composing for a people 
who crowd to a farce, shout applause at the commonplace 
jests of the hero of a modern comedy, and dissolve in tears 
at a sensation drama from a woman’s pen. Shakspeare’s, 
Schiller’s, and Goethe’s works would be rejected to-day as 
‘pulpit eloquence,’ if past ages had not stamped them as 
classic. This degraded generation must be educated 
anew by criticism. They sneer and jeer, and jingle the 
money in their pockets, these traders of the drama, who 
demoralize the public ; but I will so scourge them that 
I shall be called the Attila of the German stage.” 

He paused, for breath failed him to continue his phi- 
lippic, and he began to read over his manuscript, mur- 
muring to himself, “ This is for the future.” 

Frau Herbert, as was her wont, suffered him to rage 
on without interruption; but at last she was compelled, 
out of regard for truth, to attempt to check the outpour- 
ings of the angry man. “ It is a mournful office,” she 
began, “ that of literary executibner, and one 1 should 
-be sorry to undertake. There is no good done to any- 
body by it. Many a blossoming genius is destroyed in 
the bud, and the critic brings upon himself tlie curses of 
those who have been striving and labouring honestly, 
night and day, only to see the offspring of all their pains 


OR A rnrsiCTAN for the soul. 


219 


ruthlessly murdered by the cold steel of his criticism. 
And the public do not thank you for degrading in its 
eyes what it had taken pleasure in, and thus robbing it 
of much enjoyment. Schiller and Goethe never practised 
criticism after this fashion. They knew how to live and 
let live, for they were too great to wish to aggrandize 
themselves at the expense of their contemporaries, and 
too good to destroy the results of the painful labours of 
others. Oh, Edmund, how small the man must be who 
can seek to exalt himself by depreciating others I” 

“You are preaching again without sense or reason,” 
Herbert said angrily to his wife. “ It was very easy for 
Schiller and Goethe to play at magnanimity, for they 
were never misunderstood, — the wiser generation of their 
day did not refuse them the crowns that belonged to them 
of right. A king by election would be a fool to make 
war upon the vassals of his realm. But the nation 
refuses me my right, and therefore I shall make war 
upon it.” 

“ Are you so sure of this right?” Frau Herbert asked 
in a low tone. “ Are you so sure that your works are of 
equal value with Schiller’s and Goethe’s, and deserve the 
same applause ?” 

Herbert stood as if petrified at the presumption of such 
a speech. “ I really think the pain must have gone from 
your face to your brain. We had better discontinue this 
conversation.” 

Frau Herbert went on with her work. A slight flush 
tinged her bloodless cheek, but she was too used to such 
attacks to reply to them. She had already said too much 
of what she thought, and when she looked at Herbert’s 
anxious face she was seized with compassion. Poorly as 
he bore it, he had met with misfortune, and she would 
not add to his pain. “ Pray, Edmund,” she said, after a 
pause, occupied by Herbert in seeking and finding conso- 
lation in the beauties of his manuscript, “make up your 
mind now to read the piece to your friends. There are 
so many intellectual people here who will give you their 
opinion honestly, — then you can see what impression your 
work makes as a whole, and perhaps their criticism may 
enable you to improve it here and there.” 


220 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“I desire no one’s opinion. I know peifectly well 
myself what the tragedy is worth. Shall I give occasion 
to have it said that I needed the assistance of others to 
enable me to complete my work ? And then to have it 
reported that I composed dramas that were always re- 
jected! No, I will not acknowledge a work that has 
met wdth no applause ; neither my brother professors 
nor my students must hear of it.” 

The handle of the door was turned, and through the 
opening smiled another opening, — Elsa’s large mouth. 
When she saw the gloom overspreading her brother’s 
countenance, her snub-nose, too, made its appearance, 
and, finally, her entire lovely person. She w^ore a white 
apron with a bib, calico over-sleeves, and had one pencil 
in her hand and another behind her right ear. 

“ Your voices disturbed me at my work. Why con- 
tend thus ? You know that my exquisite fancies are 
scared away, like timid birds, by the slightest noise.” 

It is a fine time to consider your nonsense, when 
such a work as my ‘ Penthesilea’ has been returned to 
its author as ‘ unserviceable 1’ ” thundered her brother. 

“ Heavens 1” cried Elsa in dismay. “ Penthesilea re- 
jected by W ! Oh, who would have thought it ! I 

so revered that man ! My poor brother, this is hard I 
But, brother, dear Edmund, do not be too much depressed I 
Oh, I feel with you entirely. Any one who knows as 
well as I do what it is to have works rejected, can under- 
stand your pain. And what says my poor Ulrika ? She 
looks so disappointed.” 

“ Oh, you need not pity her 1” observed Herbert bit- 
terly. “ Her husband’s incapacity alone, not his misfor- 
tune, troubles her.” 

Frau Herbert turned her face towards the window, as 
if she had not heard him. 

“ Oh, you must forgive her, brother dear — she has never 
done anything but translate. She cannot know a poet’s 
finer feeling.” 

At this disparaging remark, Frau Herbert looked calmly 
and gravely at Elsa. “And yet my unpretending trans- 
lations for the periodicals supply us with the only means 
upon which we can rely, apart from Edmund’s salary and 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


221 


the small interest of my property. That is because I 
never attempt what lies beyond my reach. No under- 
taking, however humble, that keeps pace with one’s ability, 
can fail to produce some fruit, small though it may be.” 

Elsa turned away, rather taken aback by this turn of 
the conversation, and her brother muttered, “ Of course 
this is the sequel to the fine talk about attempting and 
failing.” 

Elsa threw herself down upon a cushion at his feet, in 
Clarchen’s attitude before Egmont, patted his smoothly 
shaven cheeks, and taking the thick manuscript out of his 
hand, pressed it to her bosom, saying, “Take comfort, 
my poet. Your ‘ Penthesilea’ must always live 1 Here, — 
here, — and in the hearts of all. Print it, and publish it 
as a dramatic poem. It will find readers among the most 
intellectual people of the country.” 

“ You are a good sister,” said Herbert, flattered. “But 
you know that I have never yet been able to find a pub- 
lisher enlightened enough to bring out my tragedies. 
And my own means are not sufficient to enable me to 
print the work.” 

“ Oh, brother dear, I cannot believe that * Penthesilea^ 
would not find a publisher. It is the greatest thing you 
have ever written. The coarsest of men must be touched 
by such elevation of thought. There may perhaps be 
some difficulty in representing fitly upon the stage the 
conflict between Trojans, Greeks, and Amazons in the 
presence of the gigantic horse. But I cannot think that 
any one would refuse to print such a gem, — no — never 1 
Yet, even in case of such incredible obtuseness, do not 
despair. My cookery-book will bring me in such a large 
sum that I shall be able to help you. Oh, what a strange 
freak of destiny, should I be permitted by means of a 
cookery-book to afford the German nation the knowledge 
of this immortal work 1 The ways of genius are inscru- 
table, and perhaps ‘ Penthesilea’ may one day be born 
from the steam of a soup-tureen, as Aphrodite was from 
the foam of the sea. There, now, you are smiling once 
more. May not your sister contribute somewhat to her 
brother’s success ?” 

“ You are a dear poetical child. Although I do not 
19* 


222 


ONLY A OIRL; 


share your anticipations, your appreciation of my efforts 
does me good. Thank you 1” And darling Edmund laid 
his hand upon his sister’s curly head as it lay tenderly 
upon his breast. 


CHAPTER YL 

EMANCIPATION OF THE FLESH. 

On the evening of this eventful day, Professor Herbert, 
before going to the Mdllners’, entered a splendid boudoir 
in a retired villa on the outskirts of the city. The entire 
room formed a tent of crimson damask shot with gold 
and gather^ed in huge folds to a rosette in the centre of 
the ceiling. Around the walls were ranged low Turkish 
divans of the same material. The floor was covered with 
crimson -plush rugs as thick and soft as mossy turf. 
Turkish pipes and costly weapons of all kinds, — shields, 
swords, pistols, and daggers, — adorned the walls. In the 
background of the apartment slender columns supported 
a canopy above a lounge, before which was spread a lion’s 
skin, with the head carefully preserved. Upon the floor 
beside it stood an elegant apparatus for smoking opium. 
A riding-whip, the handle set with diamonds, lay upon a 
table of bronze and malachite. A Chinese salver, heaped 
with cigars, was upon a low stand beside the lounge. 
Upon a polished marble pedestal in the centre of the 
room stood a bronze of the Farnese bull, and to the right 
and left of the lounge were placed bronzes of the horse- 
tamers of the Monte Cavallo at Rome. The rich hang- 
ings of the walls were draped over candelabra holding 
lamps of ground glass. 

The smoke of a cigar was circling in blue rings around 
the room, that was far more fit for a Turkish pasha than 
for a lady. And yet it was the abode of a lady, and it was 
the smoke from her cigar that encircled Herbert upon his 
entrance. 

At first he only saw, resting on the lion’s skin, two 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


223 


beautiful little feet in Russian slippers embroidered with 
pearls. The drapery of the canopy above the lounge 
concealed the rest of the figure. He advanced a few 
steps, and there, stretched comfortably upon the swell- 
ing cushions, reclined a woman beside whom all other 
works of nature were but journey-work, — such a woman 
as appears in the world now and then to cast utterly 
into the shade all that men have hitherto deemed beau- 
tiful. Herbert stood dazzled and blinded by the ap- 
parition before him. He was dressed in his new coat, 
and had an elegant cane in his hand, that was covered by 
a glove, upon which his wife had that morning employed 
her skill. But what was he, in all his elegance, by the 
side of this woman I He stood there dumb “in the con- 
sciousness of his nothingness.^’ What could he be to 
her, or what could he give her? She was the woman of 
her race I She must mate with the man of her race, as 
the last giantess in the Nibelungen Lied could love only 
the last giant. Was he in his fine new coat this man of 
men, — the Siegfried to conquer this Brunhilda? Ah, he 
was but too conscious that he was nothing but a poor 
weakling, whose only strength lay in his passionate ad- 
miration of her 1 

“ Aha, here comes our little Philister,” said the fair 
Brunhilda in broken German with a yawn, holding out 
her soft hand to him and drawing him down upon the 
lounge beside her like a child. Herbert sank into the 
luxurious cushions, that almost met, like weaves, above 
him. The position did not at all suit his stiff, erect bear- 
ing, which was entirely wanting in the graceful supple- 
ness of the born aristocrat who lolls with ease upon 
silken cushions. Such a seat would become a man in 
loose flowing costume, with an opium-pipe between his 
lips, and ready when wearied to fall asleep with his head 
pillowed upon the lady’s lap. Poor Herbert was not one 
of these favourites of Fortune. He sat there stiff and 
wooden as a broken-join ted doll, — his pointed knees 
emerging from his downy nest, and his tight-fitting clothes 
stretched almost to their destruction by his unusual pos- 
ture. He timidly placed his hat upon the stand beside 
him, and envied it its loftier position. 


224 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ How now, my learned gentleman the lady began 
again. “What I dumb? What is the matter now? — 
what ails you ? — domestic misery ? Pardon I I mean 
conjugal bliss.” 

“ That is my constant trouble, dearest countess,” Her- 
bert replied, “although its dust never cleaves to my 
wings when I am with you. It is not that that worries 
me to-day. My Penthesilea ” 

The countess laughed loudly, and puffed out a cloud of 
smoke to the ceiling. “ Here it comes 1 It is either his 
wife or his Penthesilea that teases him I I hope both 
may rest in eternal peace before long, for an unhappy 
husband and a tragedy are as much out of place in this 
boudoir as the fragrance of eau de Cologne or chamomile- 
tea — those horrid accompaniments of a sick-room 1” 

“ And yet it was you, fairest countess, that inspired me 
to embalm in classic verse that bold Amazon of antiquity.” 

“ That may be, and yet, my good fellow, believe me, 
Penthesilea herself would have considered it a terrible 
bore to have to read of her glory in a German tragedy. 
Come ; don’t be offended Have a cigar. Do you want 
fire to light it ? Here ; I will give you more than you 
need.” And, with a laugh, she leaned towards him and 
lighted his cigar by her own. 

“ You know you can do whatever you please with me,” 
said Herbert, making a feeble attempt to. twist his legs 
into a more comfortable position. “ But take care not to 
go too far I” 

“ Oho 1 my Herr Professor would fain mount his high 
horse ?” 

“ No, only take a higher seat,” said Herbert invol- 
untarily. 

“Well, then, sit on this ottoman, you wooden German 
with no sense of Oriental ease. There 1 will that do ? 
When you really wish to mount a high horse, I pray you 
take mine. How often I have placed my Ali at your dis- 
posal! Do let me enjoy the delight of once seeing you on 
horseback ! Will you not ? Oh, it would be delightful 1” 

“Thanks! thanks I I would do all that you desire, — 
even go to the death for you, — but it is rather too much 
to ask me to make a laughing-stock of myself.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN’ FOR THE SOUL. 


225 


“Well, then, just take one walk with me, arm-in-arm. 
Oh, what a face of alarm my honourable gentleman puts 
on I He will go to the death for me, but not across the 
street. Ah, what a glorious hero for a tragedy he looks 
now ! Hush I I know just what you would say, — wife, 
sister, cousins, aunts, good name, reputation as professor, 
— ‘great dread,’ as Holy Writ hath it, would ‘fall on all!’ 

Every coffee-cup and tea-cup in the city of N would 

rattle abroad the startling news that Professor Herbert 
had been seen escorting the wild countess across the 
street. But it is all en rhgle to slip around here in the 
twilight, and kiss my hands and feet, and then, at your 
evening party afterwards, shrug your shoulders at the 
mention of my name. For shame, Herbert 1 you are a 
cowardly fellow, fit for nothing but to be a messager 
dTamour between myself and Mollner.” 

“ Countess,” said Herbert menacingly, “ do not goad 
me too far, or you will repent it I You know my passion 
for you — know that I would dare all for a single kiss 
from your lips ; but you leave me thirsty at the fountain’s 
brink, — hungry beside a spread table, — and you heap me 
with scorn. No living man could endure such treat- 
ment!” 

“ Well, then, point Pargent, point de Suisse,^’ cried the 
countess. “ For every piece of good news of Mollner 
that you bring me, you shall have a kiss. For the sake 
of that man I would hold an asp to my breast! Why 
should I refuse a kiss to a German Philister like your- 
self ? But you must first taste all the torment of rejected 
love, that you may make all the more haste to put an 
end to mine.” 

“ This is a poor prospect for me, countess ; for I 
hardly think I shall ever be able to bring you good 
news. All that I can do is to bring you news of him ; 
and if you refuse to reward the bad, as well as the good, 
my lips shall be sealed — ^you must seek another confi- 
dant.” 

He rose, as if to go ; but she took his hand, and looked 
beseechingly at him with her large, lustrous eyes. 

“ Herbert !” 

The poor professor could not withstand that look, nor 


226 


ONLY A GIRL; 


the tone in which she uttered that one word. He sank 
upon the lion-skin at her feet, and pressed his lips upon 
the pearls and silk of her embroidered slipper. 

“ See, now, you are not as unkind as you would have 
me believe you,” she said, looking down upon him with 
a contemptuous smile, that he, fortunately, did not per- 
ceive. 

“ Oh, have some compassion upon me,” he moaned. 
“ I am most miserable 1 My home is a scene of ceaseless 
complaint. A wife disfigured and crippled by disease, so 
that she fills my soul with aversion, and, whenever I need 
rest from the thousand annoyances of my profession, only 
adds to their number. Then I am overwhelmed by vexa- 
tions of every kind, — my talents are slighted, — whatever 
I attempt fails. And then this contrast when I come to 
you ! Before me here lies all that is fairest and loveliest 
that earth has to offer ; but the delight that I feel in behold- 
ing it is an insidious poison, eating into my very life, — for 
nothing — nothing of all this splendour is mine. I stand 
like a boy before the Christmas-tree that has been decked 
for another, — I am here only to light the lights upon 
the tree, that another may behold his bliss ; and when I 
have induced that other to appreciate and take possession 
of his wealth, then — then 1 must turn and go empty 
away I Oh, it is dreadful !” He buried his face in the 
lion’s mane, and, by the motion of his shoulders, he was 
plainly weeping. 

The countess looked down upon him with the compas- 
sion that one feels for a singed moth. Had it been possi- 
ble, she would have crushed him beneath her foot for very 
pity, — ^just as we put an end to the insect’s sufferings ; 
but, as it was not possible, and as, moreover, she bad 
need of the man, she raised him graciously, and again 
seated him upon the cushions beside her. ‘’You shall not 
go away empty-handed, my good fellow. I told you be- 
fore I will make you a rich man. If you only bring 
Mollner to my side, my banker shall give you, as long as 
I live ” 

“ Countess 1” he exclaimed, “do not carry your scorn 
of me too far. I am sunk low enough, it is true, since I 
thus chaffer and bargain with you* to sell you my assist- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


22Y 


ance for a single kiss. For this single caress I would 
resign mj life I The thought of you is the madness 
that robs me of sleep at night, makes me hesitate and 
stammer when I stand before my pupils in the lecture- 
room, and prevents me from enjoying the food that I 
eat. A single kiss from you is more bliss than such 
a wretched man as I should hope to enjoy. But I am 
not yet sunk so low as to hire myself out for money, and 
although you may hold me in contempt, you shall at 
least pay some respect to the position of German profes- 
sor, which 1 have the honour to hold I” 

The countess was silent for awhile, struck by his 
words. But such embarrassment could last but a mo- 
ment with a woman conscious of the power to atone by 
a smile for the grossest insult. “ Come here ! Forgive 
me I I have erred, but I repent.’^ 

“ Oh, light of my life I” cried Herbert, seizing her 
offered hand, and pressing it to his breast. “ Forgive — 
forgive you? With what unnumbered pains would I 
not purchase the joy of such a request I The only thing 
I cannot forgive you is that such a woman as you should 
love this Mollner.” 

“ Indeed I — and why ?’’ 

“ Because he is not worthy of you. Look you, — were 
you to give yourself to an emperor or a king, I could bear 
it without a murmur. Crowned heads are entitled to the 
costliest of earth’s treasures, — how could I covet what 
kings alone could win ? But that one of my own class 
should call you his, — one with no special claim of birth, 
culture, or intellect, — with nothing that I too do not my- 
self possess, except a physique that is his in common 
with any prize-fighter, — the thought is madness I” 

A dark flush coloured the beautiful woman’s brow. “I 
have not even acknowledged to myself why I love this 
Mdllner. I never hold myself responsible for my im- 
pulses — every passion bears its divine credentials in it- 
self. But you have just revealed to me what so enrap- 
tures me in this Mollner. Yes 1 it is nothing else than 
what we admire as the highest attribute of humanity — a 
noble, genuine manhood. I think I have read in some 
poet, ‘ Take him for all in all, he was a man I’ But this 


228 


ONLY A GIRL; 


man is more ; he is what I have never in my life seen be- 
fore, — a virtuous man. This, my good little professor, 
is his charm, his advantage over monarchs even, — en- 
abling him to buy what is his now and forever, — my heart 1 
Oh, there can be no more exquisite flower in the garden 
of Paradise than this which I hope to pluck — the*devo- 
tion of this virtuous man. It is the bliss of Eve when she 
breathed the first kiss upon the lips of the first man and 
marked his first blush I” 

The beautiful woman, speaking more to herself than to 
the miserable man by her side, leaned back upon her 
lounge and exclaimed with a heavy sigh, “ Oh, what a di- 
vine office for a woman — to teach a man like this to love I’’ 

Herbert reflected for a moment. He had been playing 
the traitor here, and, in the hope of winning Johannes 
for his sister, had never said anything to him in favour 
of this woman. He had deceived her with falsehoods, 
that he might be retained as her confidant as long as pos- 
sible, and perhaps profit by her waning interest in his 
colleague. But now all his hopes and plans were 
ruined. Mollner loved the Hartwich, and was lost for 
Elsa, — who might, at all events, be avenged of her hated 
rival by means of the countess. The all-conquering 
charms of the Worronska should subdue Mollner, and he, 
Herbert, would receive — all that was left for him in the 
general shipwreck — the gratitude at least of the countess. 

He began at last, after a severe inward conflict. “ I 
have a communication for you, but it will make you angry. 
I cannot, however, feel justified as your friend in with- 
holding it from you.” 

“ Well ?” inquired the Amazon, lighting a fresh cigar. 

“ I have discovered that Mollner is in love.” 

The countess started, and looked at Herbert as if in a 
dream. The smoke from the freshly-lighted cigar issued 
in a cloud from her half-opened lips, and she looked like 
a beautiful fiend breathing fire. 

‘‘ Whom does he love ?” she asked, her eyes flaming 
as if she would force the name from Herbert before his 
lips could find time to utter it. 

“ Have you ever heard of a learned woman called Hart* 
wich ?” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


229 


“ Yes, yes I she too is emancipated.’^ 

‘‘True, but not at all after your fashion, countess,” 
Herbert corrected her, maliciously enjoying the torture to 
which the haughty woman was put. “You are emanci- 
pated for the sake of pleasure — she is emancipated for the 
sake of principle. She is a rare person, and fills Mollner 
with admiration of her genius I” 

“ Well, and it is she?” she cried, stamping her little 
foot upon the soft carpet. 

“ He is in love with her I” 

For the first time, the countess sprang up from her 
lounge, and stood before Herbert in all the majesty of 
her person. Her gold-embroidered Turkish robe hung in 
heavy folds around her. Her dark hair fell in loosened 
masses upon her shoulders. The glitter of her long dia- 
mond ear-rings betrayed the tremor that agitated her 
whole frame. Her low, classic brow, with its bold, strongly- 
marked eyebrows, — her mouth, shaped like a bow, with 
lips parted, — her firm, massive throat, — the whole figure, 
so powerfully and yet so perfectly formed, — all suggested 
the Niobe, only the passion that swayed her was rage, 
not suffering. “Is this true? Is it really true ? I must 
hear all.” 

Herbert told her all that he had seen and heard. 

The countess was silent for one moment, as if para- 
lyzed by astonishment. Then she muttered, as if to herself, 
a few broken words that Herbert could not understand, but 
at last her rage overflowed her lips and reached his ears. 

“ There is a first time for everything. This is the first 
time that a man honoured by my notice has loved 
another.” She strode up and down the room so hur- 
riedly that the flame of the lamps flickered as she passed 
them. She threw her cigar into the fireplace. “ Must 
I endure it ? I ? Oh, cursed be the day when the count 
came here for his health I For this I have spent my 
months of widowhood since his death, in this hole, away 
from all the enchantments of the world, even timidly 
waiting and hoping like a bride, — no society about me 
but my horses, dogs, and — you I For this, for this, — that 
I might learn that there lives a man who can withstand 
me. The lesson, it is true, was well worth the trouble I” 

20 


230 


ONLY A GIRL; 


She struck her forehead. “ Oh that I had never gone 
to that lecture 1 then I might never, perhaps, have seen 
him. Why did I not stay away ? What do I care about 
physiology, anatomy, or whatever the trash is called ? I 
heard this Mollner was distinguished among his fellows, 
and curiosity impelled me to go. Fool that I was, to ima- 
gine that he saw me there and admired me as I did him 
She stood still, and involuntarily lost herself in thought. 
“ Ye gods I how glorious the man was that evening 1 The 
brow, the hair, the eyes, were all of Jove himself. I 
felt myself blush like a girl of sixteen, when I met his 
eye. And such grace, such dignity I His voice, too, — 
melodious as a deep-toned bell. I did not understand what 
he said ; but there was no need, his voice was such har- 
mony that no words were wanting to the charm. It was a 
symphony, — no, finer still, for that we only hear, and in 
him the delight of sight was added. The movements of 
those lips — how inimitable ! And then his smile I” She 
paused, — her cheeks glowed, her eyes sparkled. It was 
a delight to her to lay bare her heart for once, careless as 
to what were the feelings of her auditor. 

“ And if that voice is so enchanting when it discourses 
upon dry, unmeaning topics, what must it be when it 
comes overflowing from his heart I” She leaned against 
the pedestal of one of the bronzes, and covered her eyes 
with her hand. 

Herbert sat as if upon the rack, — he could not speak, — 
his voice denied him utterance. 

“ No man has seemed to me worthy of a glance since I 
saw him first. Bound by no vow, no duty, no right, I 
have still been true to him. Since loving him, I have 
first known a sense of what the moralist would call 
decorous reserve. For a woman who for the first time 
truly loves is in the first bloom of youth, whether she be 
sixteen or thirty. I was a wife before I was a woman, 
and the spring, that I had never known before, began to 
breathe around me beneath the magic influence of that 
man, — the maiden blossom of my life, crushed in the 
germ, budded anew. Oh, what would I not have been 
to him I I, \yith the experience of ripened womanhood 
and the first love of a girl I And scorned I I, for whose 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


231 


emile monarchs have contended, scorned by a simple 
German philosopher 1 Oh, it stings, it stings!’^ 

And she hid her face again. 

Herbert timidly approached her and touched her shoul- 
der lightly with a trembling hand. “ Would that I could 
console you 1” 

She shrank from his touch as if a reptile had stung 
her. 

“ What consolation can you give me, except the relief 
that I have in pouring out my soul before you 

She moved away, and again strode restlessly to and 
fro like a caged lioness. “ Fool, fool that I was I How 
could I suppose that the interest he took in my husband’s 
case was due to my attractions ? It was inspired by a 
hateful disease, — for this he came hither, and I thought 
he came for my sake I Oh, fie, fie I I stayed for love of 
him by that terrible sick-bed, and he had eyes only for 
the sick man, — he never even saw me standing beside 
him. Is he man, or devil ?” 

“ Oh, no,” Herbert interrupted her, with malice, “he 
is only — a German philosopher.” 

“ And once, when I sank fainting in that room, what 
an arm supported me, strong as iron, and yet tender as 
the arm of a mother I He carried me like a child from 
the apartment. I held my breath, that nothing might 
arouse me from that enchanting dream. He laid me on 
a couch, saying, with icy composure, ‘ Allow me, ma- 
dam, to call your maid. I must return to the patient.’ 
My cheeks burned with mortification ; for one moment I 
hated him, but when the door had closed behind him I 
revered him as a saint. I could have knelt at his feet, 
and, clasping his knees, bedewed his hands with peniten- 
tial tears. But I restrained myself. I suddenly knew 
that this pure spirit could love nothing that he did not 
respect, — that I must first win that before I could hope 
for his love. I determined to begin a new life, to break 
with all the past. For no sacrifice would be too great to 
win the love of this man, and I sowed renunciation that 
I might reap delight. Fool that I was I I reap nothing 
but the reward of virtue!” 

She laughed bitterly, and a violent burst of tears 


232 


ONLY A GIRL; 


quenched the fire in her brain. She threw herself down 
upon the lion’s skin, unconsciously representing the Ari- 
adne. 

“Loveliest of women 1” murmured Herbert, intoxicated 
by the sight. “ Is it not monstrous that such a woman 
should mourn over an unrequited love ? Does he who 
could withstand such charms deserve the name of man ? 
No, most certainly not. He is an overstrained pedant, 
the type of a German Philister, and if blind nature had 
not endowed him with the head of a Jove and the form 
of an athlete, the Countess Worronska would never have 
wasted a tear upon him !” 

“ Herbert, you shall not revile him I You cannot know 
how great he seems to me in thus coldly despising my 
beauty, as though he might choose amongst goddesses, — ^ 
as though Olympus were around him, instead of this in- 
significant town filled with ugly, gossiping women. What 
a lofty ideal must have filled his fancy, — an ideal with 
which I could not compete! When he saw me first, he 
did not know this Hartwich. I remember how cold his 
eye was when he first saw me. He looked at me with 
the cool gaze of an anatomist. And it was always so. 
Whenever he visited my husband, he always treated me 
with the strictest formality. Always the same gentle, 
inviolable repose, — the same calm scrutiny that one ac- 
cords to a fine picture, but not to a lovely woman. Oh, 
there is something overpowering, in all this, for a woman 
used to seeing all men at her feet 1” She sank into a 
gloomy reverie. At last she seized Herbert’s hand. “ Her- 
bert, who is she who has power to enchant this man ? 
Is all contest with her useless ? Must I resign all 
hope ?” 

Herbert, as if electrified by her touch, whispered 
scarcely audibly, “Will you grant me that kiss if I 
show you how to annihilate the Hartwich in Mdllner’s 
eyes ?” 

A pause ensued. 

“ It is my only price. Without it I am dumb.” 

“ Well, take it, then I” cried the countess, driven to ex- 
tremity ; and she held up to him her lovely lips. 

But, as Herbert approached her, with the expression 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL 


233 


of a jackal thirsting for his prey, disgust overpowered 
the haughty woman, and she thrust the slender man from 
her so violently that he fell to the ground. She was 
terrified, — perhaps her impetuosity had ruined everything. 
She went to him and held out her hand. “ Stand up and 
forgive me.” 

Herbert stood up, pale as a ghost, with sunken, hag- 
gard eyes, and readjusted his dress, disordered by his 
fall. He wiped the cold drops from his brow with his 
handkerchief, and, without a word, took up his hat. 

The countess regarded his proceedings with alarm. 
“ Herbert,” she said with a forced smile, “ are you angry 
with me for being so rude ?” 

“ Oh, no,” he answered, in a hoarse, hollow tone. 

She held out her hand, but he did not take it. 

“ Do not bear malice against me. I — I am too deeply 
wounded. I do not know what I am doing.” 

Herbert was silent. He shivered, as if with cold. His 
look — the expression of his eyes — alarmed the countess 
more and more. 

“ Now you will revenge yourself by not telling me how 
I can annihilate the Hartwich ?” 

“ Why should I not tell you?” stammered Herbert, with 
blue lips. “I keep my promises.” He fixed his eyes 
upon the countess. ‘‘ Make the Hartwich your friend, 
and you will make her an object of aversion in Mollner’s 
eyes.” 

The countess started ; her terrible glance encountered 
Herbert’s look of hate. They stood now opposed to each 
other, — enemies to the death, — the effeminate man and 
the masculine woman. She had offended him mortally, 
but Herbert’s last thrust had gone home ; and softly, 
lightly as an incorporeal shade, he passed from the room. 

When the countess was alone, she fell upon her knees, 
as though utterly crushed. 

‘‘ Thus outraged Virtue revenges herself ! Artful hypo- 
crite that she is I When I left her, she gave me no warn- 
ing, — I sinned unpunished, — and now, when I would 
return to her repentant, she thrusts me from her with a 
remorseless ‘ Too late I’ Too late I — my ships are burned 
behind me, and there is nothing left for me but to advance, 
20 * 


234 


ONLY A GIRL; 


or to repent, — Repent?” Sbe writhed in despair. “Nol 
O Heaven, take pity on me, — I am still too young and 
too fair for that 1” 


CHAPTER YIL 

EMANCIPATION OF THE SPIRIT. 

High up upon the platform of her observatory, fanned 
by the pure night-breeze and bathed in starry radiance, 
stood Ernestine, waiting for the moon to rise. On her 
serious brow and in her maidenly soul there was self- 
consecration, and peace. The heated vapour of passion 
that was gathering like a thunder-cloud about her name 
in the world beneath her, the poisonous slander of lips 
that mentioned her only to defame her, could not ascend 
hither. Unconscious, assailed by no sordid temptations, 
she stood there in vestal purity, — elevated physically but 
a few feet from the earth, but soaring in mind worlds 
above it. 

Slowly and solemnly the moon’s disc arose from the 
horizon and mounted upwards, lonely and quiet, in soft 
splendour. Thousands of little moons were reflected 
in the telescopes of astronomers in thousandfold diver- 
sity of aspect ; but they were all images of the one 
orb slowly sailing through the air. Ernestine was not 
busied with her telescope, for no mortal quest could aid 
her in what she was seeking to-night. It was to be found 
only in her own breast. It was not the material, but the 
immaterial, that she was now longing to grasp ; no single 
sense could be of any avail. She needed all the powers 
of her being harmoniously co-operating. And, as she 
gazed there, full of dreamy inspiration, it was as if the 
moon had paused in its course to mirror itself in those 
eyes. Oh that we could die when and as we choose I 
that we could breathe out our souls in a single sigh 1 
No human being could pass away more calmly and bliss- 
fully than Ernestine could have done at that moment, 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


235 


as she gazed at that serene moon and breathed forth a 
yearning sigh after the Unfathomable. 

Happiness, pure and unspeakable, descended into her 
soul from the sparkling canopy of night. This was her 
holiday, her hour of enfranchisement from the fetters of 
toil and study. She was alone beneath the starry sky, — 
a lone watcher, while all around were sleeping, — thinking 
while others were unconscious. She seemed to herself 
appointed to keep guard over the dignity of humanity, 
while all beside were sunk in slumber. She could rest 
only when others were roused to consciousness. The 
fever of night, that brings remorse to so many tossing 
upon restless couches, never assailed her. All earthly 
phantoms recede from the heart bathed in starlight, for 
in that light there is peace. In view of immensity, eter- 
nity is revealed to us, and every earthly pain vanishes 
like a shadow before it. But when star after star faded, 
and the moon had paled, the first rosy streak of dawn 
kissed a brow pale as snow, and a weariness as of death 
assailed her. The sacred fire of her soul had devoured 
her bodily strength and was extinguished with it. Then 
she sank to rest silently and uncomplainingly, like the 
lamps of night at the approach of day. So it was at this 
hour. As the darkness vanished, she descended to her 
apartments, and sought in brief repose the strength that 
would suffice for a day of constant labour. 

“ The more time I spend in sleep, the less of life do I 
enjoy,^’ she said in answer to the remonstrances of her anx- 
ious attendant. “ Everything in the world is so beautiful 
that we should not lose one moment of it, — so short a 
time is ours to enjoy it.” 

“Enjoy I Good heavens 1 What do you enjoy? you 
do nothing but work.” 

“ That is my enjoyment, my good Willmers. For my 
work is nothing less than the constant study and dis- 
covery of the beauties of the world. An immortality 
would not suffice to enjoy it all, — and what can we accom- 
plish in our brief span of existence? Shall we curtail it 
by sleep ? Has not nature, who gives us eighty years of 
life, robbed us of almost half of it by imposing upon us 
the necessity of spending from seven to nine hours out 


236 . 


ONLY A GIRL; 


of the twenty-fom in a state of unconsciousness ? I will 
defy her as long as I can, and maintain my right to enjoy 
her gift as I please, and not as she pleases.” 

Frau Willmers looked with intense anxiety at the pale 
cheeks of the speaker. As she lay in her bed, white as 
the snowy draperies around her, her thin hands fallen 
wearied upon the coverlet, her breath coming short and 
quick, the faithful servant’s heart misgave her ; for she 
saw that nature had already begun to revenge herself for 
the disobedience of her laws. She covered her up care- 
fully in the soft coverlet. “ Do not talk any more, my 
detr Friiulein von Hartwich, — you are worn out.” 

“And you are wearied too, my good Willmers. Why 
do you rise whenever you hear me going to bed ?” 

“ Because I always hope that I may force you, out of 
consideration for me, to do what you will not do for your- 
self, — retire earlier and grant yourself the repose which 
is needful even for the strongest man, — how much more 
so for such a delicate creature as you are !” 

Ernestine languidly held out her hand. “You are 
kind and unselfish, my dear Willmers, but you cannot 
understand me. And, if you will insist upon sacrificing 
your night’s rest to me, I must give you a room at a dis- 
tance from mine, where you cannot hear what I am doing. 
Thank you for your care. Good-night.” 

“ Good-night,” replied the housekeeper sadly, delaying 
her departure for a moment to draw the curtains closely 
around Ernestine’s bed, that they might exclude the first 
golden rays of sunlight. 

That same night the countess spent tossing, like one 
scourged by the furies, upon her restless couch. She 
could hardly wait for the day that should take her to see 
her rival, and the same rising sun that filled Ernestine’s 
sleep with friendly dreams, — for even in slumber the eye 
is conscious of light, and communicates it to the soul, — 
the same rising sun drove the tortured woman from her 
silken bed. She knew no weariness. Her healthy phys- 
ical frame, hardened by exercise, withstood every attack 
of weakness. She owned no restraint, physically, morally, 
or mentally She was talented, but she refused to think. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


237 


Thought was in her view a fetter upon self-indulgence. 
Knowledge had limits which those who knew nothing 
were unconscious of. She would be free as the air, and 
therefore avoided everything that could disturb her super- 
ficial security. And she had sufficient intellect to feel 
that thought might lead to conclusions most dangerous 
to her theory of life. 

“ Man’s destiny is labour, woman’s enjoyment.” This 
was her motto, and she lived up to it. She dazzled the 
world with the rare spectacle of beautiful power and 
powerful beauty carrying away like the hurricane in its 
mad career whatever lies in its path, stripping the leaves 
from every flower, uprooting every young tree, and bearing 
them on perhaps for one moment before casting them 
aside, crushed and dying. A glorious spectacle for ex- 
ultant Valkyrias, but one at which the common herd cross 
themselves. Every destructive force of nature — and such 
was this woman — possesses a shuddering poetic attraction 
for the on-looker who is himself secure. He admires what 
be fears, he revels in the sight of what he knows to be 
destructive. This was the position held by the inhabit- 
ants of the little town of N towards the beautiful 

llussian since she had arrived there with her sick hus- 
band. With her wild manner of life, she was a wonderful 
apparition in their eyes, a constant source of interest, yet 
always provoking sternest disapproval. When the mag- 
nificent woman galloped through the streets upon her 
fiery Arabian, or held the reins behind her pair of horses 
with a skilful hand, like Victory in her triumphal car, no 
one could refrain from rushing to the window to enjoy 
a sight not to be forgotten. Strength, health, and beauty 
seemed to be her monopoly and the firm foundation of 
her joyous existence. 

“ The woman who desires to be emancipated,” she was 
wont to say, “must have the true stuff in her. And as 
there are so few who possess it, there are but a few who 
are emancipated. If you cannot compete with a man, 
do not try to rival him. But she who has been baptized, 
as I have, in the ice-cold Neva, can afford to laugh at 
the whole tribe with their masculine arrogance.” 

In Russia, where she had played her part in a commu- 


238 


ONLY A GIRL; 


nity far less strict, she had had an excellent field for dis- 
playing her grace and agility in all knightly exercises 
at the tilting-school which had been instituted by the 
Kussian nobility. There she made her appearance usually 
in a steel helmet and closely-fitting coat of mail of woven 
silver that shone in the brilliant sunlight, enveloping 
her as it were in splendour. When she rode into the 
lists thus arrayed, a crooked scimitar by her side, pis- 
tols in her belt, and mounted upon her Arabian steed, 
nothing could restrain the loud applause of all present. 
She rivalled the most distinguished sons of the Russian 
nobility in the grace and skill with which she managed 
her horse, the precision of her aim in shooting, and the 
boldness of her leaps. She knew no fear and no fatigue. 

She had the strength and vigour of a Northern divinity, 
with the glowing temperament of an Oriental. What 
wonder that, from Emperor to serf, all w^ere her admiring 
slaves ? 

Her father, Alexei Fedorowitsch, was a poor and un- 
educated noble, who had distinguished himself by his 
bravery in the war with Napoleon, and, invalided at its 
close, retired to his small estate in the country, where he 
lived upon his pension. His wife, a sickly aristocrat, 
who had condescended to marry him for want of a more 
desirable parti, was the torment of his life. In despair 
at the trouble and annoyance caused by his wife’s delicate 
health, sensibility, and affectation, he made a vow, when 
she bore him a daughter, to educate hjs child to be an 
utter contrast to her mother. Better that the child should 
die than live to be such an invalid as his wife. And he 
began by causing his little daughter to be baptized, like 
the children of the poorest Russians in that part of the 
country, in the icy waters of the Neva. The little Feodo- 
rowna outlived her icy bath, and her entire education cor- 
responded with this beginning. Her mother died a few 
days after this cruel baptism ; anxiety for her child put 
the finishing stroke to her invalid existence. And so her 
rude, uncultured father was her only guide and in- 
structor. He loved her after his fashion, and made her 
his companion in all his amusements, riding, training 
horses, and the chase. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


239 


She was scarcely sixteen when he married her to a 
wealthy landed proprietor in the neighbourhood, ruder 
and more illiterate even than himself, and to the girl an 
object of aversion. As his wife, she lived on his lonely 
estate like a serf. Her husband was cruel and suspi- 
cious, and made her married life perfect torture. She 
was compelled to resign her free habits of life, which she 
loved better than all else in the world. Every extrav- 
agance, even the most harmless, was forbidden by her 
husband. The joyous girl who had been used to fly upon 
the back of her spirited steed over steppe and heath was 
not allowed to mount a horse, but was made to sit with 
her maid-servants and spin by the dim light of a train-oil 
lamp until her husband came home to compel, perhaps 
by the kantachu, her reluctant attention to his wishes. 
She bore this martyrdom for one year in silence. At last 
she made a contidant of a neighbouring nobleman, and im- 
plored his aid in her great need; but she found no sym- 
pathy, — no assistance. He called her a fool, who did not 
appreciate her good fortune, — told her that to think of a 
divorce was a crime, and that her husband was perfectly 
right. In her utter loneliness, longing for love, if it were 
only the love of hei’ old father, a desire for freedom and 
hatred of her tormentor gained the victory, and she fled, 
without taking anything with her but the few clothes that 
she had possessed at her marriage. She travelled the 
greater part of the way on foot, and arrived at her father’s 
in such a wretched condition that he was touched by com- 
passion, received her kindly, and took her part against her 
husband. Her suit for divorce left her wholly without 
means, but free, and when shortly afterwards she came to 
know the old diplomat C )unt Worronska, and he laid his 
rank and his millions a her feet, offering a field for her 
beauty at court at St. Pe .ersburg, she could not withstand 
the temptation. She became his wife, and was transplanted 
from the midst of half-savage serfs to one of the most 
magnificent courts in the world, — from the Russian forests 
and steppes to apartments gorgeous with every luxury of 
life. At first dazzled and confused, she won all hearts, 
even those of the women, by her innocent beauty and 
graceful diffidence. At last her unbridled nature broke 


240 


ONLY A GIRL; 


forth all the more impetuously for the long restraint under 
which it had lain, and, with no guidance but that of her 
imbecile husband, who adored her, she rapidly degener- 
ated in every way. Society always looks more leniently 
upon those errors that are gradually developed before its 
eyes and under its protection than upon those that it ob- 
serves outside of its sphere, because it is cognizant of 
the excuse for the faults of those within it, and it was all 
the more willing to pardon the delinquent in this instance 
for the sake of the high rank of her husband. It there- 
fore ignored escapades that the distinguished position 
held by the old count forbade it to punish, and the beauti- 
ful and enormously wealthy Countess Worronska, in spite 
of her dissipation, was and continued to be the centre of 
the most brilliant, if not the best, circle of society in St. 
Petersburg. All this she had resigned for the last six 
months, and she had lived like an outlaw, avoided by 

prudent “ German Philisters,’’ in the town of N , for 

the sake of the only man whom she truly loved, and who 
— despised her. 

Before the death of her husband she had always been 
surrounded by a brilliant crowd of gentlemen who had 
sought her society from the neighbouring famous baths, — • 
acquaintances from St. Petersburg, distinguished Eng- 
lishmen, Italians, Poles, — in short, the gay, wealthy 
idlers of every nation that invariably flock around a beau- 
tiful woman upon her travels. With these she smoked, 
rode, and drove, — proceedings that had excited no out- 
cry in the gay world at St. Petersburg, but that called forth 
shrieks of horror from the women in the little German Uni- 
versity-town and greatly excited the students, who were 
never weary of caricaturing her, —harnessing four horses, 
and, disguised as women, drivi g them wildly through 
the streets, mimicking her foreij. n admirers, making her 
bearded servants drunk, and playing many other mad- 
cap pranks in ridicule of her. 

The universal horror culminated, however, when she 
did not dress in black after the count’s death. People 
said with a shudder that she had declared that “ it seemed 
to her despicable to play such a farce, and simulate a 
grief that she did not feel.” How could any one so scorn 


OR A PHYSIGIAX FOR THE SOUL. 


241 


conventionalities, and lay bare the secrets of the heart to 
the public gaze ? Yes, it was even suggested that she 
had never been married, and they called her the “ wild 
countess,’’ — much as we speak of wild fruit to distin- 
guish them from those that are genuine. Although 
injustice was done her in this respect, she deserved the 
epithet “wild” in every other, and the name clave to 
her. Even Mollner, who was always ready to find 
some magnanimous excuse for feminine failings, thought 
that she ought to show more respect for her septuagena- 
rian husband, and pronounced her conduct heartless osten- 
tation. From that moment she lost all interest, if she 
had ever possessed any, in his eyes. He never noticed 
that for months no gentleman had been allowed to enter 
her doors, for he did not think it worth while to observe 
her actions. Whoever did observe it ascribed it to chance. 
The report of her improvement was drowned in the bil- 
lows of scandal that had been lashed up by her previous 
conduct. No one believed in her reformation, least of all 
he for whom she made such sacrifices. 

And now the moment had arrived when, for the first 
time, she found herself helpless, opposed to a higher 
power, — and the effect of this first collision with invisible 
barriers upon the untrained heart of the countess was 
terrible. Hitherto she had recognized only the laws of 
decorum, and had transgressed them with impunity 
whenever they had oppressed her. Decorum is almost 
always subject to the will of individuals and to fashion. 
But the higher law that hovers over the universe, sub- 
ject to no human will, to no change, — unchangeable, as is 
all that is divine, — is the law of morality. It was this 
against which the countess was now struggling, of the 
existence of which she seemed now first to become aware. 

But such a woman could not give up the battle. It 
was a law of her nature to resist. She could not yield. 
How could she ? — she had never learned submission. She 
would battle for her desires. As a girl, she had endured 
hunger and cold for days in the pursuit of the chase, 
while food and warmth waited for her at home. From 
her earliest childhood, her will had been trained to iron 
persistence, and now, when she had again left the com- 

21 


242 


ONLY A GIRL; 


forts and delights of home in pursuit of a far nobler prey, 
should she desist from the chase because the game be- 
longed to another ? Such a course was impossible for 
such a woman, and, as strength could not avail her here, 
she resorted to the commonest weapon of the merest 
hirt, — cunning. 

Herbert’s malice contained a seed that swiftly ripened 
and bore fruit in the fertile brain of the countess, for she 
knew only too well how much truth there was in the 
charge that her friendship was a dishonour to a young 
girl. It was a terrible thought for her that there was 
no means left for her whereby she could crush a rival 
except by so poisoning her with her own infection that 
she might become an object of disgust to her lover. But, 
if she could gain nothing by such a course, she could 
at least revenge herself. She turned over the leaves of 
Ernestine’s publications. They were too learned for her. 
She understood nothing from their pages, except that they 
contended for the emancipation of women, — that was 
enough for her. She too was “emancipated.” It was 
enough to establish an understanding between them. 
Perhaps a meeting with Mdllner might grow out of a 
visit to Ernestine. She was determined to make use of 
Herbert’s malicious hint, his last bequest to her; for she 
had mortally offended him, and he no longer came near 
her. She hastily studied a few papers upon the emanci- 
pation of women, that she might comprehend what Her- 
bert had said of “principle” in connection with the sub- 
ject, and this was the day upon which she was resolved 
to see her victim. She selected Wednesday for her ex- 
pedition, because Herbert had told her that Mdllner had 
been with Ernestine on the previous Wednesday. Per- 
haps his visit might be repeated on the same day of the 
week. 

As soon as she rose, she blew a shrill whistle upon a 
little silver call. There instantly appeared — not a dog — 
a maid with a large bucket of spring-water, which was 
dashed over her beautiful mistress in a little bathing- 
tent. 

The maid then silently withdrew, and brought coffee and 
the newspapers. The countess, wrapped in a rich brocade 


OR A PHYSICIAl^^ FOR THE SOUL. 


243 


dressing-gown, lighted a cigar, and, while drinking her 
coffee, looked carelessly through the papers. 

Afterwards she went to her dressing-room, and called 
to the dressing-maid in attendance there, “Riding-habit!’^ 
and, after a short delay, the maid brought her all she re- 
quired. “Ali!” said the countess, which meant, “Go 
tell the groom to saddle Ali for me.” 

The brief order was understood and obeyed with 
rapidity. Like a shadow the attendant glided from the 
room, appearing again like a shadow in the presence of 
her dreaded mistress. The servants of this woman must 
have neither mind, soul, nor heart, — only ears to hear, 
and hands and feet to obey. The poor dressing-maid did 
her best to fulfil all that was required of her, — she was all 
ear, hands, and feet. She scarcely breathed. It really 
seemed as if the powerful lungs of her mistress inhaled 
all the air of the apartment, leaving none for any other 
inmate. 

She took her place behind the countess, who sat before 
the mirror, smoking, and began, as carefully as possible, 
to comb out her long hair. The lovely woman examined 
her own features critically to-day. One peculiarity of 
her face, otherwise faultless, — a peculiarity that reminded 
her of the Russian type, — irritated her excessively j she 
thought her cheek-bones somewhat too high. 

Just as she was contemplating this imaginary defect, 
the maid slightly pulled her hair. It was too much for 
her patience. 

“ Maschinka I” she cried, starting up and snatching the 
comb from the poor girl’s hand. A flash — a blow — and 
Maschinka stooped silently to pick up the pieces of the 
broken comb. The print of its teeth was left upon her 
pale cheek, but no word, no cry of pain, escaped her lips, 
— her eyes alone looked tearful. 

“ Get another 1” ordered her mistress, as if nothing had 
happened, and she sat down again. 

Maschinka obeyed, and finished the coiffure, and the 
rest of the toilette, without further disaster. Then she 
brought riding-whip, hat, and gloves, and the countess 
descended the richly- carpeted stairs. Suddenly she 
stood still, and called, “Maschinka!” 


244 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ Madame I’^ 

“ Does your cheek hurt you 

“ Oh, no I” whispered the girl. 

“What? Don’t lie I Well, then, rub it with cold cream, 
from the silver box on my dressing-table ; and keep the 
box, — I give it to you.” 

Without listening to the girl’s thanks, she passed on 
Her magnificent Arabian was led, snorting and foaming, 
around the court-yard. She beckoned to the stout, bearded 
Russian, who could scarcely restrain it, and he led it 
towards her. Another servant, in a rich livery, brought 
sugar upon a silver plate. She fed the noble animal, who 
was instantly soothed, kissed its smooth forehead, patted 
its neck, and mounted lightly to her place upon its back. 

“ What o’clock ?” she asked, as the servant handed her 
the whip, and she rose in the stirrup to arrange the folds 
of her dress. 

“ Past five o’clock, madame,” was the answer. 

“ I shall return at eight. The carriage must be ready 
by twelve. Tell Maschinka to have my dress prepared.” 

“As madame pleases,” replied the servant. 

“ Open I” cried the countess, and a third groom, who 
had been waiting for this order, threw open the double 
gates of the court-yard, letting in a flood of morning sun- 
light. Ali reared beneath his lovely burden, as if he 
would soar with her into the clouds, but a quick cut from 
her whip somewhat cooled his Pegasus ardour, and he 
sprang forward, almost running over a servant, who had 
not moved aside quite quickly enough, and gained the 
street. Here, however, his mistress reined him in. 

“ The dogs I” she called. 

The servants all hurried into the court-yard, and a 
frightful noise was heard. The barking, howling pack 
came rushing from their kennels, and leaped around their 
mistress with all the signs of delight that their mad 
gambols can evince. And now a wild race began. Away 
tore the Arabian, tossing the foam from his mouth. As 
he flew rather than galloped along, he tossed back his 
head, pointed his ears, and distended his nostrils, striv- 
ing to outstrip the yelling pack at his heels. The beau- 
tiful hounds followed hard behind, in long leaps. The 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


245 


servants stood grouped about the gateway, looking after 
their mistress. 

“ Aha,” muttered the chief among them to himself, 
“ she is turning into the Bergstrasse. The dogs must 
waken Professor Mollner again, and bring him to the 
window.” 

But the bearded old Russian observed sadly, “ She’ll 
break her neck some day.” 

Peaceful, and buried in slumber, lay the quiet little 
town. The windows, — eyes of the houses, — were closed, 
as were those of their inmates ; but, as the countess 
dashed by in her mad career, one after another was 
opened, a curtain drawn aside here and there, and a 
sleepy, curious face appeared. 

The countess laughed at the crop of night-capped 
heads which her ride past their windows suddenly 
caused to appear. The warm-blooded Arabian shivered 
beneath her in the fresh, dewy morning air, and she felt 
its bracing breath colour her cheek. “ What a miserable 
race is this, that spends such hours in bed! They rise 
only when the smoke from the chimneys and the weary 
sighs of labourers have thickened the air. That is the 
atmosphere for their delicate lungs 1 They are afraid of 
the cold breeze of dawn I” 

She passed by Herbert’s dwelling, and, with a vigor- 
ous stroke of her whip, excited her dogs to a more furi- 
ous barking. How should she know that his invalid wife, 
in that upper chamber, had just fallen into a refreshing 
slumber after a wakeful night of pain, a slumber from 
which the noise aroused her to a day of suffering ? 

Here, too, a curtain was drawn aside, and Elsa’s dream- 
encircled head peeped out. 

“ That is his monkey-faced sister,” thought the count- 
ess, and nodded in very wantonness. The face van- 
ished in alarm. Herbert did not appear. And she gal- 
loped on through the silent streets. It was wearisome 
riding thus upon stony pavements, with a sleeping public 
all around, her only spectators the servants and peas- 
ants carrying milk and bread, and staring open-mouthed 
at the haughty horsewoman. Now and then a student 
in his shirt-sleeves, brush or sponge in hand, would appear 
21 * 


246 


ONLY A GIRL; 


at a window, and one poured out the contents of his wash- 
basin upon her dogs, who had fallen fiercely upon an in- '' 
nocent little cur that was just taking his morning stroll. 

It was the only incident that varied the monotony of 
her ride, and she passed swiftly on towards the Berg- 
strasse, as the servant had prophesied. 

At last she reached it, and the glorious view of the 
distant mountains lay before her. The rough pavement 
came to an end, for here the pleasure-grounds of the town 
were laid out, and the roads were strewn with fine gravel. 
She now gave her steed the rein, and the fiery beast flew 
along, ventre d terre, with the pack after him in full cry. 
The houses were all surrounded by charming gardens. 
There was one which for a long time riveted the atten- 
tion of the countess. Look I there was an open win- 
dow, and at it stood Mollner, gazing out upon the far- 
off mountains. 

Just as the countess passed, he observed her, and an- 
swered her gesture of recognition by a respectful bow. 

He looked after her, well pleased as he marked the 
finely-knit figure, with a seat in the saddle so light and 
graceful that she seemed part of her horse. She turned 
her head and saw him looking after her, and in her plea- 
sure at the sight she reined in Ali until he reared erect 
in the air and curveted proudly. Then on she galloped, 
and was soon lost to sight. She had reached the foot 
of the mountains, and, allowing her panting steed to 
ascend a little hill more slowly, she paused to rest him 
on the summit. 

Before her lay a golden, sunny world. It was an en- 
chanting morning. Thin, vapoury smoke was begin- 
ning to rise from the chimneys, and the heavens were 
so cloudless that it ascended straight into the blue arch 
without being pressed down to the earth again. 

Over the tops of the pine-trees that crowmed the brows 
of the mountains, little white feathery clouds were still 
hovering. It seemed as if those mighty heads would 
fain shake them off, for they soared aloft and then set- 
tled again, then shifted from place to place, hiding some- 
times in the forest, until at last they vanished before the 
increasing power of the sun’s rays, and the dark, jagged 


OR A rUYSICIAN FOR TUB SOUL. 


247 


outline of the mountains stood out clear and free against 
the blue sky. Who, with a heart in his breast, beholding 
and enjoying all this beauty and glory, does not involun- 
tarily look above in gratitude to the unseen Giver and 
mourn over his own unworthiness of such bounty? And 
how many eyes look on it all without understanding it or 
rejoicing in it I Does it not seem that on such a morning 
the most degraded soul would gladly purify itself, as the 
bird dresses his feathers at sunrise before be lifts his 
wings to soar aloft into the glorious ether ? 

And yet the gloomy fire of the previous night still 
smouldered on in the countess’s breast, and no cool breeze, 
no pearly dew, availed to quench its unhallowed glow. 
Her heart was desecrated, — the abode of the demons of 
low desire and hate. It could no longer soar to higher 
spheres. The beautiful woman gazed upon the land- 
scape without one feeling of its beauty. She was far 
more interested in compelling the obedience of her impa- 
tient steed than in the grand prospect before her. In the 
gilded saloons of St. Petersburg she had lost all compre- 
hension and love of nature, and she was so accustomed 
to consider herself a divinity that she was no longer con- 
scious of the humility of the creature before its Creator. 
Although she might not deny Him, she was indifferent 
to Him, and if she sometimes visited His temple, she did 
it only as one pays a formal visit to an equal. 

Thus she stood there upon the hill, inhaling the fresh, 
fragrant air with a certain satisfaction, but with no more 
interest in the lovely scene than was felt by her dogs, 
who judged of the beauty of the landscape chiefly by their 
sense of smell, as, lying on the ground around their mis- 
tress, they too snuffed the morning breeze. Now and 
then one was led astray by the scent of game in the 
thicket ; but a call from the silver whistle of his mistress 
reminded him of his duty, and he returned to his com- 
panions, — only casting longing looks in the direction in 
which his prey had escaped him. Had his haughty mis- 
tress ever in her life practised such self-denial ? Could she 
have seriously answered this question, she might have 
blushed before the unreasoning brute. 


248 


ONLY A GIRL; 


It was ten o’clock when Ernestine stepped out upon 
her balcony. Gaily-dressed peasants were passing, pipe 
in mouth, along the road outside her garden-wall, for to- 
day was the Ascension of the Blessed Virgin, — a glori- 
ous opportunity for drinking to her honour and glory. 
The people were in their gayest humour, their morning 
libations had already had some effect. The peasant 
seems to know no better way of giving God glory than 
by enjoying His gifts ; he believes that he thus affords 
Him the same pleasure that a good host feels in seeing 
the guests at his table enjoy what is placed before them. 

Ernestine smiled at the thought of this profane belief, 
which nevertheless springs from honest, childlike traits 
of human nature. 

Leuthold had not yet returned from his journey, and 
these days of solitude had been, — she never asked herself 
why, — the pleasantest that she had known for a long time. 
She did in his absence only what she was used to do 
when he was with her ; but her thoughts were very dif- 
ferent. The man had so thoroughly imbued with his 
teaching her every thought and action, that when he was 
by she could not even think what he might disapprove. 
Since his departure she had, if we may use the expres- 
sion, let herself alone. She allowed her thoughts to stray 
as they pleased. She was not ashamed to spring up 
from her work and feed the birds, or to spend an hour in 
the garden, or at the window in dreamy reverie. And 
she made various scientific experiments, that she might 
surprise her uncle upon his return with their successful 
results. 

And this was not the only advantage of his absence. 
She could go to the school-house to see the good old peo- 
ple there ; she could — receive a visit I — a visit of which 
her uncle knew nothing. Was that right ? Oh, yes, it 
was right, — it was too sacred a thing to be exposed to 
his cool contempt. Why was he so dry and cold and 
stern, that she must conceal every emotion from him ? 
To have told him of this visit would have been like vol- 
untarily exposing her roses to be frozen by ice and snow. 
She still remembered and felt the pain that he had made 
her suffer when she spoke to him of God. Then he had 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


24& 


taken her God from her, and now he would take from 
her her friend, — the first, the only one she had ever 
known. It was the pure, sacred secret of her heart, — as 
pure and sacred as the communion she held with the 
starry heavens at night upon her observatory. 

Meanwhile the door had opened without her notice, 
and the iEolian harp sounded in the draught that swept 
across its strings. The birds, that had hopped close 
around her for their accustomed food, flew twittering 
away as a stranger appeared, and a deep, mellow voice 
asked, “Well, and how are you?” 

Ernestine started as at a lightning-flash. She turned 
and looked at the intruder with a deep blush, but with 
undisguised delight. 

“ Whj should you be startled ?” he asked. 

“ I do not know, — you appeared so suddenly. I did 
not see you coming down the road.” 

“No, I took a cross-cut that was shadier j I came on 
foot.” 

“ Oh, then you must be tired 1” said Ernestine, enter- 
ing the room with him. “ Sit down.” 

“ My dear Friiulein Hartwich, first shake hands with 
me, — there ! And now tell me that you have quite for- 
given me, — you do not think ill of me.” 

“ No, sir,— doctor ! — Can I call you doctor? We give 
names to everything, why should you be the exception ?” 
And she smiled. 

It was the first time that he had seen her smile, and it 
enchanted him. 

“ If, then, it is so hard not to call me by name, christen 
me yourself. There are kindly titles invented by friend- 
ship or good will. Am I not worthy, in your stern sight, 
of any of these ?” 

“ Oh, none that I could find would be worthy of you, 
you are so kind, so — oh, yes I I have a title for you I” 

“ Well ? I am curious.” 

“ Kind sir ! — will you allow that ?” 

“ Ah, my dear Fraulein Hartwich, it is you who are 
too kind.” 

Ernestine smiled again. A fleeting blush tinged her 
cheek. 


250 


OXLT A GIRL; 


Johannes looked at her. “Do you know that you 
seem much more cheerful than when I saw you last?” 

“ Thanks to your skill, kind sir.” 

“ Indeed ? — spite of my bitter physic ?” 

“Yes, it did taste bitter, but good followed it.” 

“ Then you felt the truth of what I said ?” 

She grew grave. “No, not that, — but I recognized a 
true, large heart, and admiration for that conquered my 
ailment, — delight in its sympathy overcame the pain of 
being misunderstood by it.” 

“ That is more than I ventured to hope, after so short 
an acquaintance. Were you less magnanimous than you 
are, you would hate me, for I deeply wounded your 
vanity, and, to be frank, I propose to do so still further.” 

“Not a pleasant prospect, but I will be steadfast. If 
you deny me the strength of a man, you shall at least 
not find me subject to women’s weaknesses, — among 
which I hold vanity to be the most despicable.” 

Johannes smiled. “And yet you are not free from 
this weakness. You endure my assaults upon your pride 
because it gratifies your vanity to prove that you are not. 
vain.” 

Ernestine cast down her eyes. “You are clever at 
diagnosis,” she said with slight bitterness. 

“I am only honest. Do you not see that I know, 
since you have received me so kindly to-day, that it 
would be quite possible to win your further confidence 
and esteem if I would only have a little consideration 
for your weaknesses ? 'Let me confess frankly that a 
confidence so purchased would not content me. Trifling 
and jesting may have deceit for their foundation, for one 
will last no longer than the other, but the regard that I 
cherish for you, and that I would awaken in you for me, 
must — can — be founded only in the truth, — must grow 
out of the inmost core of our natures ; and if our natures 
do not harmonize, any intimate relation between us is 
impossible, and an artificial tie between us would be, for 
us, a sin. If, then, my ruthless hand searches the hidden 
depths of your soul, — if I outrage your vanity, so that 
even the vanity of being magnanimously self-forgetting 
will not help you to endure it, — I only fulfil a sacred duty 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


251 


that truth requires of me, both to you and to myself, — a 
duty whose postponement might be heavily avenged in 
the future.” 

Ernestine looked at him inquiringly. She did not un- 
derstand him. 

“You are puzzled, and do not know how to interpret 
my words,” he continued. “You cannot dream how far 
beyond reality my fancy soars. But you must feel that 
I am not a man to play the bel-esprit for my amusement, — 
to find any satisfaction in measuring my wits to advan- 
tage with a woman’s, — to take delight in hearing the sound 
of my own voice. Before I seriously approach a woman, 
I must be clear in my own mind as to what I can be to 
her and she to me. You, Fraulein von Hartwich, cannot 
be to me much or little, — you can be to me everything or 
nothing. Our natures are both too real to admit of our 
passing each other by pleasantly, politely, but without 
enthusiasm, like ephemeral acquaintances in society. We 
have already, in defiance of conventional rules, formed 
an intimacy in which character is revealed, and the 
aim of our intercourse must be a higher one than that of 
mere amusement. Otherwise I were a boor and you are 
greatly to blame for enduring me. Only a deep personal 
interest in you could warrant my relentless treatment of 
you. I acknowledge that I feel this deep personal in- 
terest. More I will not say now, for all else depends 
upon the development of our relations towards each 
other, in the increase or decrease of accord in our views 
of life and its purposes.” 

Ernestine was silent. She began to have some suspi- 
cion of what she might be to this strong, upright char- 
acter, and what he might be to her But it was not that 
tender emotion that the first approach of love awakens 
in the heart of every woman, even the coldest; she was 
troubled and anxious. The decision with which he spoke 
convinced her at once that he never could be converted 
to her views, — that she must mould herself according to 
his, — that a transformation must take place in one or the 
other of them, if she would not lose what was already of 
such value to her. She was not accustomed to self-sacri- 
fice, for her cunning uncle had so educated her, so trained 


252 


ONLY A GIRL; 


her inclinations to accord with his wishes, that she al- 
ways supposed she was having her own way, when in 
reality she was following his. She felt that this hour 
was a crisis in her life, that she was brought into con- 
tact with a will which would require of her great self- 
sacrifice, and of which she was almost in dread, because 
it was backed by superior strength. 

Johannes waited for an answer, but none came. He 
saw what was going on in Ernestine’s mind, and that his 
words had chilled her, kindly as they were meant. He 
took her hand and looked into her eyes. “ Ah, you will 
not call me ‘ kind sir’ any more ?” 

Ernestine was conscious of the true kindliness of hia 
look, she felt the gentle clasp of his hand, and involun- 
tarily she held out to him her disengaged hand also, and 
said almost in a tone of entreaty, “ No, you will not be 
cruel, you will not hurt me.” 

He stood silent for an instant, looking into her clear, 
confiding eyes, holding both her hands in his, and was 
for the moment unspeakably happy. 

“ I promise you 1 will not give you more pain than 
I shall suffer myself,” he said gently. “ But we must 
buy dearly the happiness that is to content us. We are 
not of those who innocently and artlessly take upon trust 
whatever the present throws into their laps. Constituted 
as we are, we must needs make conditions with Heaven, 
and accept its gifts only when we have proved them. 
For we cannot be satisfied with what many would call 
happiness, — we can take no delight in what would charm 
thousands of others. It is the curse of natures like ours 
that they erect a standard of happiness far above what if 
usual, — and how many are there upon whom Providence 
bestows unusual happiness !” 

Ernestine smiled bitterly at Johannes’s last words. 
“Providence!” she murmured, “we are our own provi- 
dence. We shape our own destiny, create our joy or our 
misery, — the conditions of either are in ourselves !” 

“ And because we are so mysteriously gifted beyond 
other creatures, because we are mentally freer and more 
conscious of ourselves than other beings, our responsi- 
bility as regards ourselves and those whom we see around 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


253 


us is all the greater. There are natures that are eternally 
wretched, because they demand more of life than it can 
possibly afford them, and undervalue all that it offers 
them, although it makes their lot enviable in the eyes of 
all. Then we say, ‘ Their unhappiness is their* own fault, 
they have everything to make them happy, no one in- 
jures them ; why are they so exorbitant in their longings V 
But this is wrong. They are not insatiate, they would 
perhaps be contented with a far more moderate lot. What 
fault is it of theirs that the demands of their innermost 
nature are such that they require just what fate has not 
bestowed upon them ? Of what use is a glittering gem 
to the traveller in the desert languishing for a drop of 
water ? How willingly would he exchange the bauble 
for what he longs for! Who would say to him, ‘You 
have a precious treasure, why are you not content V 
Who would reproach him with being a human creature 
that cannot live without drinking? The most one can say 
to him is, ‘ Since you know that you cannot live without 
water, why go into the desert V There is the point where 
we are responsible. If we know what are the conditions 
of our existence, we must see to it that what we choose in 
life accords with those conditions, always provided that 
Providence gives us the right of free choice. If this right 
is ours and we choose falsely, it is our fault if we are 
wretched. I call it an unusual boon, therefore, when 
Providence permits us to choose a lot that harmonizes 
with our nature. If this is denied us, the man of the 
greatest freedom of thought is not responsible for his 
fate, — he is under the ban of a higher power. 

Ernestine listened to him with undisguised interest 
He saw it, and continued : 

“ We, Fraulein Hartwich, are free to choose, and are 
therefore responsible to each other, and it is incumbent 
upon us to be on the watch. A kindly Providence, you 
too must admit this, has brought us together, and left the 
decision as to what we will be to each other in our own 
hands. Let us show ourselves worthy of the trust; let 
us try ourselves. I am sure you feel with me that the 
moment must be a glorious one in which -two human 
beings recognize each other as their embodied destiny. 

22 


254 


ONLY A GIRL; 


But it must be celebrated not by gushes of seutimentality 
nor by would-be transcendentalism, but in perfect peace 
of mind I” 

He took her hand and gazed into her eyes. She stood 
quietly before him, and gathered calmness from his look. 
And again that significant silence ensued so dear to those 
whose hearts are full of what they cannot or dare not 
speak. Suddenly Frau Willmers softly opened the door. 

“ There is a lady without, who wishes to speak with 
you, Fraulein Hartwich.” 

“With mel’^ asked Ernestine in displeased surprise. 

“ Who is she 

“ She refuses to give her name, and will not be denied. 
She says if Fraulein von Hartwich is not at leisure now, 
she will wait any length of time.” 

“ Did you tell her I was engaged with a visitor ?” 

“No, there is no knowing whether the lady” — here 
she cast an embarrassed glance at Johannes — “might 
not tell your uncle !” 

Ernestine looked down confused. “ That is true — if 
it should chance — What is to be done ? How very an- 
noying I” 

“ I thought perhaps the gentleman would allow me - 
to take him through the laboratory and down the other 
staircase ?” said Frau Willmers in a tone of anxious 
entreaty. 

“Shall I ?” asked Johannes, not without evident vexa- 
tion. 

Ernestine looked at Frau Willmers. “ Pray do,” she 
begged, “ out of pity for poor Frau Willmers, who will 
have to bear the whole burden of my uncle’s displeasure 
if he should learn that she had connived at our meeting.” 

“ I must comply with your wishes, but only for this 
once,” he said, quietly ofering her his hand. “ When 
may I come again ?” 

“ Next Saturday, will you not?” 

Johannes knew perfectly well why she appointed that 
day, but he said nothing, and followed Frau Willmers. 
At the door he turned and looked at Ernestine. She saw 
something like displeasure in his face, and hastened after 
him. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


255 


“ Pray do not be angry with me, kind sir.” 

Johannes was touched by the gentle entreaty from one 
usually so stern and cold. He pressed his lips upon her 
hand and whispered softly, “I shall never, never be angry 
with you. God bless you !” 

The door closed behind him, and Ernestine, still agi- 
tated by the interview, half awake and half dreaming, 
went into the antechamber to receive the stranger waiting 
there. 

The Worronska, in all her grandeur, stood before her. 

Ernestine had never in her life seen so extraordinary a 
vision. She was actually dazzled. 

The brown, Juno-like eyes were regarding her with 
strange curiosity, the black eyebrows were gloomily con- 
tracted ; there was something so hard and haughty in 
her air and bearing that Ernestine took offence at it before 
a word had been uttered. 

The w'ay in which the lady measured her with her 
glance from head to foot recalled to her memory the pain 
that she had once suffered beneath the gaze of the Staats- 
riithin’s guests. For one second she felt in danger of 
the same overwhelming sensation of embarrassment. She 
seemed to grow pale and wither in the presence of this 
dazzling and haughty person. But she was no longer a 
child, sensible only of her defects, and the next moment 
the pride of conscious power came to her relief. She 
knew that she stood in the presence of an enemy, but 
she felt herself the equal of her opponent. Who was this 
woman who thus assumed the right to look down upon 
her? Whence did she derive this right? — from beauty, 
wealth, or rank ? Did she know as much as Ernestine ? 
Had she written a prize essay ? And, more than all, did 
she possess such a friend as now belonged to Ernestine ? 
No, no, assuredly not. Ernestine was her equal, who- 
ever she might be. 

“Will you walk in ?” said Ernestine with icy repose of 
manner and with a dignity that evidently impressed the 
countess greatly. Ernestine stood aside to allow her to 
pass, and motioned her towards a small sofa filling a 
recess of the room, while she herself took a seat opposite. 
Her lips were closed j no conventional grimace, usual 


256 


ONLY A GIRL; 


upon the reception of a visitor, distorted the pure beauty 
of her grave countenance. She awaited in silence the 
stranger’s communication ; she was too unfamiliar with 
the forms of society to excuse herself for having kept her 
waiting in the antechamber. The countess at last under- 
stood that she must be the first to speak. She felt, too, 
in the presence of such a woman as Ernestine that her 
coming hither was a mistake, and it made her falter. For 
the first time in her life she was confused. The tables 
were turned. Ernestine was already the victor in this 
silent encounter. Hers was the victory of true self- 
respect over the frivolous conceit of a jealous coquette. 

The Worronska had failed in her part even before she 
began to play it. She had heard Mollner’s voice and 
his step as he left the room. The affair, then, had gone 
farther than she had thought. Anger had put her off her 
guard, and given her a hostile air when she had come to 
allure and perhaps lead astray. Her error must be rec- 
tified at all hazards. She held out her hand to Ernestine 
and said, in her melodious Russian-German, “ I am the 
Countess Worronska.” 

Ernestine slightly inclined her head, and the expression 
of her face grew colder and more forbidding than before. 
“And what is your pleasure with me. Countess Worron- 
ska ?” 

“ What ? Oh, that is soon told. I seek from you 
amusement, instruction, excitement, — everything that so 
talented a companion as you are, and one so entirely of 
my way of thinking, can bestow.” 

Ernestine recoiled almost perceptibly. “ Of your way 
of thinking ?” she asked. 

“ Most certainly I We are both advocates of the eman- 
cipation of women, each in her own way, but our object 
is the same. We are both adherents of the great cham- 
pion of women’s rights, Louisa A , who is my in- 

timate friend. How charming it would be to enlist you 
also! We could then labour in concert, — I in action, 
Louisa through the daily press, you by your books.” 

Ernestine listened with the same unmoved counte- 
nance to what the countess said. When she had fin- 
ished, Ernestine was silent for a moment, as if seeking 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


25T 


Bome fitting form of speech for what she wished to say. 
The countess watched her eagerly. At last Ernestine 
replied, “ Countess Worronska, I must decline your pro- 
posal, — I am resolved to pursue my path alone.” 

The Worronska bit her lips. “Indeed? You are 
afraid of sharing your laurels ?” 

“Not so,” rejoined Ernestine calmly. “ I am afraid of 
sharing the laurels of a Louisa A .” 

“ Oh ! would you think that a disgrace ?” 

“Yes.” 

A pause ensued. The countess cast a fierce glance at 
Ernestine, who bore it coldly and unflinchingly. Again 
rage seethed in the bosom of the Worronska, but she con- 
trolled herself, for she was determined to compass her 
ends, and knew that she must be upon her guard with 
this girl. 

“ You are certainly frank,” she began. “But I like that, 
— ^it is original.” 

“ It is unfortunate that truth should be so rare among 
your associates, Countess Worronska, that you call it 
original I” 

“You are severe, Eraulein Hartwich. You should 
know my friends, and then you would be more lenient to 
their weaknesses. Why is it unfortunate ? Refinement 
of taste brings that in its train. We cushion the chairs 
on which we sit, we plane and polish the rough wood of 
our furniture, we clothe the bare walls of our rooms with 
tapestry, w^e do not devour our meat raw like the Cos- 
sacks, but delicately cooked to please our palates. Why 
then should we surround ourselves morally with spikes 
and thorns, which rend and tear those around us ? Why 
should we partake of our intellectual food so raw and 
undressed that it disgusts us ? Thank Heaven, we have 
put olf such barbarisms with our more advanced culture.” 

“ You are perfectly right. Countess Worronska, looking 
upon the matter from a worldly point of view. I am 
only surprised to hear you defend the forms of society 
while you despise its proprieties.” 

A crimson flush rose to the brow of her visitor. But 
her rage only strengthened her determination to subdue 
22 * 


258 


ONLY A GIRL; 


her foe, superior as she could not but acknowledge her to 
be. “ Yes, what you say is true ; I love forms, because 
they are pleasant and useful. I hate propriety, because 
it would be our master, and by propriety you mean de- 
corum — I understand you perfectly. Yes, then, yes: I 
love the forms of society, that give an aesthetic charm to 
existence, and make it smooth and easy, but I hate what 
people call decorum. When, in despair at the tyranny 
of my first husband, and utterly loathing his rude vul- 
garity, I left him by stealth, and fled, at peril of my 
life, across the half-frozen Neva to my father, to share 
his solitude and poverty, I acted honourably, but every 
one condemned me ; the runaway wife was an object 
of scorn, — she had sinned against the laws of decorum. 
But when, after my divorce, I married the old Count 
Worronska, simply because I coveted rank and wealth, I 
acted dishonourably, but I had done nothing indecorous. 
Every one bowed low before me, and I found myself an 
object of respect to others when I was so deeply sunk in 
my own esteem. And can I do homage to decorum, the 
idol to which we are sacrificed, the empty scarecrow that 
the selfishness of men sets up to keep us within our 
prison-walls ? In the folds of its garment lie hidden 
tyranny, hate and revenge, jealousy and envy, malice 
and uncharitableness, ready to crawl out like poisonous 
serpents and attack its victims. What free spirit will 
not curse it if it has ever been aware of even the shadow 
of its rod ? I began by cursing it, but I have ended by 
despising it. I have sworn hostility to it, and, trust me, 
there is a rare delight in stripping it of its mask. Louisa 

A contends against it with far nobler weapons than 

it deserves. It is not worth the going out to meet it with 
such solemn pathos. A hundred years hence, the world 
will laugh to think that it should have had power to 
annoy such a woman as Louisa.” 

She ceased, and looked into Ernestine’s face to see the 
effect of her words. But there was no change of feature 
there. 

“ I cannot vie with you in your style of speaking, 
Countess Worronska. I am used to plain thoughts. I 
am not practised in metaphor, and cannot adorn what I 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 259 

say with such wealth of imagery. I can only reply 
plainly and frankly to what yon say, that what you 
designate as our foe I consider our protection, and that it 
is a far different foe that I contend with. Therefore we 
should never agree, and it is a useless waste of time to 
attempt any closer intercourse.” 

The countess started, and the colour left her lips, so 
tightly were they compressed. Yet she would make one 
more attempt. She regarded Ernestine with a look of 
profound compassion, and possessed herself of her reluc- 
tant hand. “ Poor child I does even your bold spirit 
languish in the fetters of prejudice ? What a pity I How 
inconceivable I And will you tell me what foe it is that 
you wish to subdue?” 

“The mean opinion that men entertain of our sex.” 

“And you would combat this with your pen?” 

“I hope to do so.” 

“Do not mistake; we have mightier weapons for the 
contest than the pen I” 

“ There are none more effectual than the cultivation of 
our powers, for it will prove to them that we do not de- 
serve their contempt, — that we can perform tasks that 
they consider emphatically their own.” 

“They will never acknowledge it. All intellectual 
power is relative, — there is nothing absolute but physical 
force. If we can knock a man down, he must believe 
that we are as strong as he. But he will never concede 
our intellectual equality, because there is no compelling 
him to be just. As long as there is no third authority in 
the world to act as umpire in the contest between the 
sexes, which can only be if God himself should descend 
from the skies, so long must we be victims to the egotism 
of men I” 

Ernestine looked down thoughtfully. “You may be 
right, but we must comfort ourselves with the reflec- 
tion that by the contest itself we have done good. To 
do good is the object of all, and the individual must 
be content with the peace of this consciousness as his 
reward.” 

“What cold comfort! Why, every flower in your 
path will perish in such an icy atmosphere ! I pity you! 


260 


ONLY A GIRL: 


Come, confide in me. In spite of your bluntness, I feel 
drawn towards you. I will introduce you to a new ex- 
istence, where you may learn how to revenge yourself 
upon men. You bear the stamp upon your brow of one 
gifted by God to be their scourge. Learn to understand 
yourself, and you will see how perverted your views are 1 
Your power lies not in the bulky volumes that you write. 
Our charms are the weapons by which we conquer! 
As long as men have eyes and we have beauty, they 
must be our slaves; and you would im|)rison yourself 
within four walls, and toil and strive, while you have 
only to face those who shrug their shoulders at your 
writings, to have them prostrate at your feet! Would 
not this be an easier conquest?” 

Ernestine was silent. The countess saw with delight 
that she was evidently agitated, and continued more con* 
fidently. 

“You are beautiful, — how beautiful you yourself do 
not probably know, or you would not deprive the world of 
a sight that would enchant it, or yourself of the satisfac- 
tion of observing its admiration. Believe me, — there is 
no greater delight than the triumph of our charms. To 
know yourself an object of worship, — to be able to bless 
with a smile ! — ah, what rapture ! It is a divine privilege, 
that thousands would envy you. In comparison with it, 
what is the feeble pleasure that your studies can afford 
you ? What can it matter to you if it is reported for a 
few miles around that you are a great scholar? Is such 
a report a flower, refreshing you by its fragrance ? — a 
flame, that can warm you, or a ray of light, that can dazzle 
you? Can it give pleasure to any one besides yourself? 
It is invisible, incomprehensible, — a mere idea, a phantom, 
a nothing. Its only value for you is the value that it 
gives you in the eyes of others, for in ourselves we are 
nothing. We are only what we may become thrnugh 
our relation to others. Go to the hunters of Siberia, or 
to the Laplanders, and ascertain whether you find it any 
satisfaction that you rank among the scholars of Germ^nv. 
You are striving for one end, that you may secure some 
value in the eyes of men and revenge yourself for the 
contempt heaped upon you as a woman. You seek th^ 


OR A PBrSICIAN- FOR THE SOUL. 


261 


means to this end in your inkstand, — seek it in your 
dark, lustrous eyes, — in your long silken hair. You will 
find it there, like the girl in the fairy-tale. You can comb 
pearls and diamonds out of those locks. Let me be the 
fairy to hand you the magic comb.’’ 

“Cease, I pray you. Countess Worronskal” cried 
Ernestine, blushing deeply. “I cannot listen to such 
words.” 

“If you fear my words, it proves the effect that they 
have upon you, and I have half conquered already,” cried 
the temptress exultingly. 

“ If you think so,” said Ernestine haughtily, “ continue, 

I pray you. When you have finished, I will tell you *’ 
what I would rather not have been compelled to say.” 

“You will think more kindly of me when you have 
heard me to the end,” said the countess. “You think 
my views immoral ; but what is immorality ? What corre- 
sponds closely with the laws of nature? What morality 
do the brutes possess? Nonel and they are, therefore, 
irresponsible. They obey those laws which you, as a 
student of nature, esteem the first and highest. Ascetics 
say morality is necessary to preserve that order without 
which chaos would come again. But I ask you. Does 
chaos reign in the brute creation? Does not the strictest 
order in the preservation of species prevail there ? Does 
not each possess and preserve its individual peculiarities ? 
Does the lion mate with the hyena? Are there not in- 
violable laws prevailing there? And it would be just so 
with mankind. Noble natures would attract only noble 
natures, and the common and vile herd with the vile. 
Love would direct the whole, and the indecorum of con- 
ventionality, of force, of falsehood and hypocrisy, would 
vanish. Would not the world be fairer, and, believe me, 
better? Conscious that no legal claim could exist be- 
tween husband and wife, each would endeavour to retain 
the heart of the other by redoubled tenderness and self- 
sacrifice. Mankind would grow more amiable, more self- 
denying, and the mind would be fed on the freedom of 
the body. As long as we have no freedom of choice, our 
spirits must be enslaved. Have not men arrogated to 
themselves the right of free choice? Are they bound by 


262 


ONLY A GIRL; 


laws? Where is the man who does not transgress them 
in public or private ? But for us there is no appeal, — we 
are property possessed, — we have no right of ownership. 
We must be far above the necessity for change, inherent 
in every human being, — far above the demands of taste, 
of passion, — above everything except man. We must 
achieve the victory over nature, so impossible for him, 
but be utterly subject to his will. Is this a just order of 
the world? No! Even those who have never felt the 
pressure of its injustice cannot defend it I Has not ad 
vancing culture abolished serfdom in Russia’ And is 
the saddest of all serfdom — the serfdom of woman — to 
continue? No I If you do not choose to contend for its 
own sake for that right of free choice, of personal free- 
dom for which such women as Louisa A are doing 

battle, do it for the thousands of poor weak creatures 
languishing beneath such a perversion of morality!” 

Ernestine cast upon her an annihilating glance. After 
a short pause she said, “ And if I were to do so, I should 
be striving for the ruin of humanity. I will not argue with 
you in justification of a morality which you do not under- 
stand, but 1 will attempt to remind you of its necessity, 
which has not, it seems, occurred to you. It can be done 
in a few words. Morality is moderation. Where it is 
wanting, all force exhausts itself in immensity ; for mod- 
eration is the conservative force in nature, as in life. You 
look amazed. You do not understand me. I cannot lead 
you in a single hour along the dark, thorny path by which 
I have attained this conviction, and I know, besides, that 
I speak to deaf ears. But you have challenged my opin- 
ion. You shall have it, then.” Ernestine’s cheeks began 
to flush with noble indignation. “All partisans labour 
for their cause, which may excuse you for attempting to 
disturb the peace of a quiet mind, to instil poison into an 
innocent heart. May you never be more successful than 
with me 1 I will believe that you have been impelled by 
the fanaticism of your error, not by the demoniac desire 
to drag me, who have done nothing to harm you, down 
to your abyss. But, Countess Worronska, what wretched 
error is this upon which you are squandering your power, 
your glorious gifts? I know it. Do not think that 


OR A PHTSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


263 


what you say is new to me. It is the old threadbare 
philosophy of the voluptuary. It is the proclamation of 
all that mankind should conceal, if not for the sake of 
morality, then for the sake of immortal beauty, because 
it is monstrous if you will not call it immoral. It is 
what has branded the words ‘ emancipation of woman’ 
with eternal disgrace. Enough I Spare me a pearer 
approach to so disgusting a theme. I know sufficient of 
it to condemn it ; for it was my right and my duty, as a 
champion of our rights, to examine and prove all that 
bad been done by any of my sex for the amelioration of 
its condition. And I have found with the deepest sorrow 
how widely different these women’s paths are from mine, 
how little they understand their own dignity. What 
they call emancipation is degradation, — what should 
make them free makes them bold. Their frankness be- 
comes shamelessness. What they call casting off ignoble 
fetters is licentiousness. What do they do ? What do 
they achieve to show themselves worthy of the rights 
that they demand ? Are such feats as smoking cigars and 
shooting pistols the evidences of our greatness? And 
what about these very rights that they demand ? What 

does this Louisa A want ? What do all these women 

want, who strut like stage-heroines about the world, filling 
it with shrill clamour about their misunderstood hearts ? 
Fie upon them I They train themselves to be slaves by 
their struggles for emancipation, — slaves to their de- 
sires and to men ; for all their bombastic phrases about 
freedom signify freedom of intercourse with the other 
sex.” 

The countess sprang up. 

“ Hear me to the end,” said Ernestine, more and more 
animated by a noble ardour. “ My words cannot do you 
the harm that yours might have done me. I deeply re- 
gret that my efforts could have been for one moment 
confounded with yours, and therefore I will clear myself 
to your better self, without an instant’s delay, from the ^ 
suspicion of abetting you in any way. Let me tell you 
that my purpose is solely to vindicate the intellectual 
honour of my sex, — to enlarge the bounds of our ability, 
not of our will. Emancipation of the spirit is the goal 


264 


ONLY A GIRL; 


for which I strive. Or, to speak more plainly, you work 
for the emancipation of the flesh, — I for emancipation 
from the flesh. You see our efforts are as wide asunder 
as the poles ; and, I tell you frankly, I fear the shadow 
that intercourse with you would cast upon my pure 
cause.” 

The countess drew around her her mantle of black 
lace, that had slipped from her shoulders, and shrouded 
herself in it as in a cloud, then stepped up to Ernestine, 
who had also risen from her seat, raised her hand, and 
said in a tone of menace, “ You will r<"pent this.” 

Ernestine calmly returned her gaze. “ I scarcely think 
so. Countess Worronska. Thanks to my occupations, I 
stand entirely outside of the sphere where you could 
harm me.” 

“ I could kill you !” hissed the countess, gasping for 
breath, while the blood rushed to her head and the room 
grew dark before her eyes. 

Oh, no, you neither could nor would,” said Ernestine 
with cutting contempt. “ You would not afford the world 
the spectacle of so bold a champion of our freedom ending 
her days in penal confinement.” 

“ You are right, — it would be folly to commit a crime 
when easier means would gain the same end. I will deal 
you a death-blow, and your life shall bleed slowly away, 
and none of our excellent laws can touch me. I will 
wrest from you the man whom you love. I will, — and, 
trust me, what 1 will I can.” 

Ernestine said not a word. She was benumbed, as if 
by a blow. She did not see the countess leave the room, — 
she saw only, by the glare of the burning torch that the 
wretched woman had hurled into her breast, her own 
heart. 

Was she, then, in love ? And with whom? 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


265 


CHAPTER VIIL 

‘‘WHEN WOMEN HOLD THE REINS.” 

Breathless with rage, the Worronska descended the 
stairs and left the house. A groom was driving a 
splendid carriage-and-four up and down before the house. 
She beckoned to him ; he drove up and sprang down to 
assist his mistress, who, mounted upon the box, took 
the reins and whip, and, relieved by being able to vent 
her wrath upon some living thing, cut viciously at her 
impatient horses. The groom sprang nimbly into his 
place behind her, and away like the wind went the modern 
Victory in her triumphal chariot, as if rushing to breathe 
vengeance and hate into hosts fighting upon the battle- 
plain. 

“Is it possible that that hectic, ill-tempered girl can 
rival me with such a man as Mdllner?” she said to her- 
self. “But shame on me 1” she instantly added, “let 
me not, in my anger, "frove a slanderer I She is beau- 
tiful, and a thousand times wiser than I, — but, curse her 1 
I could strangle her with this hand I” 

The passionate woman felt hot tears coursing down her 
cheeks. She struggled for composure ; her chest heaved 
with the effort to breathe freely. She encouraged her 
horses to still greater speed, so that her carriage fairly 
rocked from side to side. She was glorious to behold in 
her wrath, as she both urged and restrained the spirited 
animals, — fit emblems of her own wild passions. 

But I will show her who she is and who I am,” she 
murmured. “ That I should be insulted by this German 
prude I” And she gave the near horse a cut with her 
whip, making him rear wildly and then drag on the 
others in his headlong career. In a few minutes the vil- 
lage was passed through, and the village curs desisted 
from barking at the horses’ heels, and retired growling to 

23 


266 


ONLY A GIRL; 


tlieir homes. The steep descent of the hill upon which 
the village was built was close at hand. • 

“ Madame,” said the groom to her in Russian, “ look 
there 1” He pointed to a sign-post by the wayside, warn- 
ing travellers of the steep road. But it was too late ; the 
coontess needed both hands and all her strength to hold in 
her steeds, and could not reach the handle of the brake. 

“ We shall get down safely,” she cried, holding the 
beads of the four noble animals well in rein. But as the 
road made a slight turn she recognized in the foot-path 
before her a well-known form. Her face flushed crimson, 
— it was Molluer. She no longer saw the steep descent, 
— she did not see that she must pass the church, where 
service was held at the time and all vehicles were re- 
quired by law to pass at a walk; she only saw Johannes, 
whom she would overtake at all hazards. She gave the 
horses the rein, and they rushed on as if for their lives. 
Then Johannes turned his^head towards her and made 
signs to her, but she did not understand them. He stood 
still. She thundered past the church, and two or three 
peasants, disturbed in their devotions, came running out 
and looked menacingly after her. Johannes made signs 
to her again, more earnestly than before, and now she 
saw that he meant ^he should look where she was going, 
— in the road just before her there was a group of chil- 
dren playing. She tried to turn aside — tried to hold in 
her horses, but in vain. Neither horses nor carriage could 
be guided or restrained in the impetus that they had 
gained from the steep descent, and they tore madly on 
directly towards the children. Johannes, in the greatest 
alarm, jumped over the hedge dividing the foot-path from 
the road. The children scattered in terror. 

There was a shriek. The countess looked around, — no 
child was near. Whence came that cry? It came from 
under her wheels. At that moment Johannes reached 
the carriage, seized the leaders by their bridles and 
brought them to a stand-still. Then he stooped down 
and drew forth from beneath the carriage a lovely little 
girl, quite sensele.<s. With a wrathful glance at the 
countess, he took the child in his arms, and murmured, 
“ 1 thought so I” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


267 


“Is she dead?” asked the countess, pale ^ith fright, 
and restraining with difficulty her excited steeds, while 
the groom put large stones in front of the wheels. 

“Not dead,” replied Mollner, “but no doubt severely 
injured.” 

“ Oh, what an unfortunate accident I” cried the countess, 
quite beside herself 

“It was no accident!” Johannes rejoined severely, 
“but the inevitable consequence of your furious driving, 
Countess Worronska.” 

He leaned against the hedge, and began, without a word 
more, to look into the extent of the child’s injuries. “ This 
is what comes of it,” he muttered with suppressed indig- 
nation, “ ‘ when women hold the reins.’ ” 

“ Mollner, do not reproach me,” the countess entreated. 
He paid her no attention, — he was engrossed with the 
poor little victim upon his knee. 

“Whose child is it?” he asked of her playmates, who 
came flocking around him. 

“It is Keller’s Kiithchen!” cried the children. “Ah, 
our dear little Kiithchen I” 

Some crowded about Johannes, others ran to the church 
to call the parents. Johannes tenderly bound up the 
child’s bleeding forehead with his pocket-handkerchief, 
and carefully drew off its thick jacket to examine the 
shoulder-joint, that seemed to be broken. 

The Worronska devoured the scene with envious eyes. 
She saw him only, — the grace of his motions, the tender 
care that he lavished upon the child, — and, like molten 
lava, the words burst from her lips, “ Oh that I were that 
child!” 

Johannes did not even hear her. 

“The arm must go,” he said sadly. “The best that 
you can do. Countess Worronska, is to drive to town as 
quickly as you can and send out Professor Kern or some 
other skilful surgeon.” 

“Mollner,” she implored, “I cannot go until you have 
forgiven me !” 

“ 1 pray you make haste, madame. Your first duty is 
to do what you can for the child ; and I am afraid you 
will suffer from any delay, for there come the enraged 
peasants.” 


268 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Like bees disturbed in their hive, a menacing, mur- 
muring throng came flocking out of the church, and in a 
minute surrounded the strangers. 

“ What has happened 

“Who is hurt 

“A child run over I” 

These words ran from mouth to mouth, and every one 
pressed forward to know whether it was his child. But 
alarm soon gave way to indignation, — for Kathchen, pretty 
little roguish Kathchen Keller, was the pet of the village. 
All loved her, and were shocked and grieved to see the 
blooming flower so ruthlessly cut down. The child had 
never harmed a living thing. Every one had been glad- 
dened by her bright smile and taken delight in her 
chubby innocent face. And that this dear, artless little 
creature should be sacrificed to the mad humour of an 
arrogant stranger 1 What business had this crazy woman 
in their quiet village, disturbing the repose of their holi- 
day and destroying the poor peasants’ most precious 
possessions ? 

Maledictions were the answers to all these ques- 
tions, that arose instantly in the minds of the villagers, 
already heated by wine, and their next thought was of 
revenge. 

“ Curses upon the vile woman,” began one aloud, “to 
drive so madly !” 

“ Where were your eyes ?” asked another. “ Such a 
child is not a dog, to be driven over 1 Could you not turn 
aside ?” 

“ She thought a peasant’s child was of no consequence,” 
said a third. 

“ Who ever saw four horses harnessed together I” ex- 
claimed several. 

“ There is no end to the insolent pranks of these city 
folk.” 

“ Thunder and lightning I” cried a sturdy, broad-shoul- 
dered peasant. “ Stop talking, and let us have her before 
the magistrate.” 

“Yes, yes ! to the burgomaster’s !” shouted the crowd. 

Johannes was in a most trying position. He still had 
the child in his arms, no one had taken her from him. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SO UL. 


269 


He could not carry her away, — he dared not leave the 
defenceless woman to the insults of the mob. He tried 
to speak to the people, but in vain ; they paid no atten- 
tion to him. They had heard and seen the countess 
rattle past the church a few minutes before, and all their 
fury was concentrated upon her. 

Johannes made a sign to the countess, who stood up 
in her carriage, regarding the people with contempt, to 
drive on instantly ; but she cried, “ Croyez-vous que je 
craigne la canaille ? Je ne quitterai pas cette place sans 
que vous veniez avec moiP^ 

Then a voice shrieked, in the midst of the tumult, 
“ Holy Mother 1 my child, my poor child I” and a woman 
rushed up, tore the little girl out of Johannes’s arms, and 
covered her with tears and kisses. 

A handsome young peasant followed her, and gazed, 
wringing his hands, and stupefied with horror, at his 
senseless child. “ God in heaven I what have we done, 
that we should be visited so heavily he murmured, and 
would have fallen, had not two of his friends supported 
him. 

“ Her eyes should be torn out!” shrieked the mother, 
metamorphosed to a fury, while she pressed her child to 
her breast, as if to guard her darling from the danger to 
which she had fallen a victim. “ To jail with her, aban- 
doned, God-accursed wretch that she is 1” And she 
kissed the child and bathed it in tears. 

“ Do not curse,” said her husband gjoomily, — “it’s sin- 
ful on a holiday. God will one day,” and he pointed to 
Kathchen, “ demand this life at her hands. She will not 
escape punishment.” 

“ May it soon overtake her !” sobbed the woman. 

The priest now approached from the church, with 
all the consolation that the occasion required of him, 
and the schoolmaster humbly followed. 

“ See, see, reverend father, what they have done to my 
child,” the mother cried, when she saw them. “And Herr 
Leonhardt too, — ah, she was his pet. What is to be 
done ?” 

“ What a piteous sight I” said Herr Leonhardt, stoop- 
ing over his little favourite, while the tears dropped from 
23* 


270 


ONLY A GIRL; 


his poor eyes, and all the women wailed in chorus. But 
the priest felt called to utter a few solemn words of con- 
solation in season. 

“ Give thanks, my dear Frau Keller,^’ he said, raising 
his hands, — “ give thanks for the abundant grace of our 
blessed mother Mary, in that she has so distinguished 
you above others as to call your dear child to be a holy 
angel in a better world, upon the very day of her own 
most blessed Assumption.” 

“ Reverend father,” said Johannes, “ this gratitude is 
not necessary, thank God, as yet, for the child lives, and 
will live, — I will answer for it.” 

“ Ah I” wailed the mother in despair, “ you do not know 
what it is to bring such a child into the world, to love it 
and work for it night and day until it grows big, to go 
without many a bit yourself that it may have enough, 
and, when it has got to be a joy and pleasure to you, to 
pick it up here all crushed and broken I God punish 
her I God punish her !” With these words the woman 
hurried away, her husband supporting her trembling 
arms, that were scarcely able to sustain the child’s weight, 
and yet would not resign it. The pastor and the school- 
master went with her. 

“Here,” called the Worronska after the retreating pa- 
rents, “take this for the present. You shall have more by- 
and-by.” She held out a heavy, well-filled purse. 

“ Keep your money, we do not want it,” said the hus- 
band with sullen rage, and went on without turning his 
eyes from his child. 

The countess looked down, pale and agitated. 

“ He is right, we do not want money, but justice,” 
shouted the mob, and pressed so close around the car- 
riage that Johannes reached it with difficulty. He hastily 
kicked away the stones from beneath the wheels, and cried 
out to the Worronska, 

“ Drive on, in Heaven’s name I Would you expose your- 
self to useless insults ?” 

“ Don’t let her go,” was the cry. “ Take out the horses I 
Go for the burgomaster!” 

“ If one of us drives over a cat, he is carried off to the 
lock-up, — let the great folks fare the same.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


2Y1 


Some even began to unharness the horses, — but Jo- 
hannes interposed with iron determination, snatched the 
whip from the countess, who never took her eyes from 
him, gave the noble animals the lash, and away they 
went through the living wall that was closing around 
them. A shout of rage arose, the carriage was pursued 
for a short distance, but it was out of sight in a few min- 
utes, leaving behind only the unfortunate groom, cowering 
terrified in the middle of the road. 

Then the universal indignation was turned upon 
Johannes, who stood quietly there with the whip in his 
hand. He had delivered the stranger from just punish- 
ment, and had assisted her to escape, — he was in league 
with her. 

“ You are one of her friends. You shall answer for 
her to us !’^ 

“ I certainly will, good people,” said Johannes calmly 
and kindly. “ First let me do all that I can for the poor 
child, and then I will go with you to the burgomaster’s 
or wherever else you choose.” This simple answer en- 
tirely disarmed the rage of the crowd. 

“ The gentleman is right, I know him,” cried a newly- 
arrived peasant. It was the same man with whom Jo- 
hannes had spoken upon his first visit to the castle. 

“ Why did you help that bad woman to escape ?” asked 
some. 

“ Because she should be dealt with in an orderly man- 
ner. I promise you satisfaction, and much greater satis- 
faction than you would have in maltreating a woman.” 

“ He is a just gentleman, a brave man I” said the peo- 
ple one to another. 

“ He takes it all upon himself, — that is honest I” 

“ Come, then, good people, and show me where the Kel- 
lers live, — afterwards we will have a word together.” 

The peasants assented, well content. “ Yes, yes I that’s 
all right I” 

They had not far to go to the wretched straw-thatched 
hut of the day-labourer Keller. 

A wooden flight of steps upon the outside of the hut 
led to the upper story, — the space beneath was used as 
a stable, and the one room above it, that served for 


272 


ONLY A GIRL; 


fileeping-rooro and dwelling-room, contained a large bed, 
an earthenware stove, two wooden chairs, and a table. 
Over the bed hung a carved crucifix, with a skull, and 
a vessel for holy water, and in the bed little Kathchen 
lay quiet and patient, almost smothered beneath the 
heavy coverlet, gazing at the by-standers with bewil- 
dered eyes. Her mother knelt by the bedside, weep- 
ing. Several women were trying to comfort her, telling 
her how quickly and well the broken limb would heal if 
she would only have a model of it in wax hung before 
the picture of the Holy Mother of God in the church. 
The waxen limbs of all kinds that already hung like a 
wreath around the sacred picture bore witness to the effi- 
cacy of this pious custom. Frau Keller must lose no 
time in presenting her offering, — for it was especially 
efficacious upon Assumption day. 

Frau Keller shook her head. She was obstinate in her 
grief, and did not believe in this kind of cure. 

“ Kaspar,” she said, “ hung up a leg before the Holy 
Mother, and paid a gulden for it. And what good did 
it do ? Did he not die of the trouble in bis leg after he 
went to town 

The priest stood at the foot of the bed, listening to the 
conversation and shaking his head. “ Columbane, Co- 
lumbaue,” he now began, “ you blaspheme ! Do you not 
remember the cause of Kaspar’s death ? Do not accuse 
the Blessed Virgin, — how could she help the man when 
he would not wait for her aid, but listened to the evil 
counsel of the Hartwich and had his leg cut off? He 
did not die of disease, but because he made friends with 
an enemy of the Holy Mother.” 

“Well, then,” said one of the women, “perhaps the 
Holy Mother of God drew him to her again by that very 
leg.” 

“ What ? Then perhaps she might draw my little Kath- 
chen to her in the same way,” cried Frau Keller defiantly. 
“No, no 1 let me keep my child, crippled though she be, 
if she only lives. 1 am strong, and can work for her. No, 
Kathi dear, you do not want to go to heaven. You will 
stay with father and mother, even if they have only a 
crust for you.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR TEE SOUL. 


273 


“Yes, mother dear, I will stay with you,’^ said the 
child ia her sweet voice, leaning her head wearily upon 
her mother, who, sobbing, stroked the pale little cheeks. 
“Mother dear,” she said, and there came the sweetest 
expression into her eyes,x “ do not cry so, — it does not 
hurt me much.” 

A dull cry of anguish broke from the mother’s breast, 
and she hid her face among the bedclothes. “My child I 
my child I complain, — only be naughty and fret, — your 
patience breaks my heart, — you seem already on the way 
to be a blessed angel.” 

Upon the other side of the bed, that stood with its head 
to the wall, were two silent figures, the father and the 
schoolmaster. The latter gazed down upon the child 
with hands clasped as if in prayer, while the father leaned 
against the wall, his face hidden in his hands. He looked 
up now, and said with emotion but with resignation, 
“ Be quiet, wife, and let us bear it as well as we can. 
If we must lose the child, she is too good for us, — I al- 
most believe so now.” 

“ Father dear,” said Kathchen, “ if you talk so, I must 
cry, and then you will cry more.” 

Herr Leonhardt plucked the man by the sleeve, and 
whispered, “ The child ought to be kept perfectly quiet. 
Rouse yourself, and send these women away ” 

“ So I say,” said Johannes, who had stood for a few 
minutes unobserved upon the threshold of the door. “ I 
pray you, good women, leave us to ourselves. So many 
people in this small room worry the child. Your friendly 
interest is very grateful ; show it now by withdrawing.” 

The kindly neighbours willingly departed, he was 
such a handsome, pleasant gentleman who requested 
them to do so. The priest also took his leave ; the school- 
master only, at a sign from Johannes, remained. 

Outside, there was no end to the questions and answers, 
as to how all was going on within, and how Kathchen, 
usually so nmible, could have got under the carriage- 
wheels. She was indeed a good little child, for it was 
at last ascertained that she had escaped herself and was 
perfectly safe, when she turned back to rescue a smaller 
child, a neighbour’s little boy, who was standing still in 


274 


ONLY A OIRL; 


the middle of the road. The boy escaped, but his poor 
little preserver was thrown down by the horses, and so 
severely injured. 

“ She is a dear pet — Kiithchen,” the men declared ; 
and the women cried, “ Oh, if you could see her now 
lying there in bed, you would believe that she was half 
in heaven already.” 

She was indeed in heaven, as is every true, pure 
child ; for there is a heaven so close to the earth that 
only little children can walk beneath its canopy. We have 
grown up away from it ; its glories are veiled from our 
eyes ; it lies below us, like golden clouds around a moun- 
tain upon whose summit we are standing. 

“ Well, Kiithchen, how are you now ?” asked Johannes, 
stepping up to the bedside. 

“ Very well, thank you,” said Kathchen dutifully, as 
sbe had been taught to reply. 

There was something exquisitely touching in the half- 
unconscious self-control of the child. Johannes was 
moved by it. He stooped down and kissed the pretty 
lips. 

“One more I” she entreated, putting her unhurt arm 
around his neck. 

“ Our Kathchen,” said Herr Leonhardt, “ is a good 
little girl. Do you know, Herr Professor, that the other 
day she was the only one in the whole school who would 
give Fraulein von Hartwich a kiss?” 

At mention of that name a slight flush passed over 
Johannes’s face. He sat down upon the edge of the 
bed and looked tenderly at the child. “ Indeed I Did 
you do that, you angel ?” he whispered, and again 
he kissed the lips, that seemed dearer to him after 
what the schoolmaster had told him. Profound silence 
reigned in the room. The parents looked on without a 
word. Herr Leonhardt alone saw Johannes’s emotion. 
The little chest rose and fell more regularly. Johannes 
pillowed the head upon his warm, soft hand, and the 
child dropped asleep beneath the gentle gaze of her pro- 
tector. He looked at the clock. The surgeon, whom 
the countess was to send, could not arrive for a long 
while yet. Nevertheless, he determined to wait for him. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


2Y5 


“ Husband,” whispered Frau Keller, “ I have a strange 
thought. When the schoolmaster said just now that 
Kathi had kissed the Hartwich, I suddenly remembered 
how the child came home and told me all about it, and 
complained that the other children had jeered her, and 
told her that something would certainly happen to her, — 
that the Hartwich would bewitch her 1 ’Sh I — be still ! — 
don’t let the schoolmaster hear ; he would be angry ; but, 
for the life of me, I can’t help thinking it very strange I” 

The man looked thoughtfully at his wife, and scratched 
his head. After a little he whispered, “ It is not worth 
while to say anything about it ; but you are right, — it is 
very strange. Deuce take the Hartwich I What business 
had she to kiss our child? There’s something wrong 
about her.” 

“ Speak to the priest about it, and see what he thinks, 
but don’t let the schoolmaster know that you do so. Go. 
Say you want some beer. The child is asleep now.” 

The man slipped out as softly as he could upon his 
hob-nailed shoes, to consult the priest upon so grave a 
matter. 


CHAPTER IX. 

vox POPULI, VOX DEI. 

When Keller, on his way to the priest, reached the 
village inn, be went in to refresh himself with a mug of 
beer, and found the priest whom he was seeking in the 
inn parlour, surrounded by a circle of auditors from the 
village and neighbouring farms. The Protestant pastor 
was also present, for the occurrence of the morning was 
a subject for universal discussion. The host was busy 
supplying the company with beer-mugs and bottles, 
secretly congratulating himself upon the accident that 
had brought him so much custom. 

“Ah, here is the poor father I Well, what news ? How 


ONLY A OIRL; 


276 

is she now ?’^ were the words that greeted Keller’s en- 
trance. 

“Bad,” he replied. “The child will be a cripple.” 

A murmur of compassion was heard. 

Keller turned to the priest and asked to be permitted a 
word with him in private. His request was willingly 
granted. 

“Your reverence,” began the peasant, “ Columbane 
thinks the Hartwich has been the cause of all this.” 

The priest clasped his hands. “ What do I hear ? Why 
does she think so ?” 

Keller told him what had happened. 

The priest shook his head, and said in a loud voice to 
his Protestant brother, “Does it not seem, respected 
brother, as if we were forbidden by the visible finger of 
the Lord from holding any communication with this 
unholy woman, who has crept in among us like a poi- 
sonous serpent ?” He then repeated, so that all could 
hear, what Keller had just told him'. 

The Protestant divine, who was always in harmony 
with his colleague when there was a common enemy to 
do battle with, also considered the matter a very serious 
one. “It would of course be superstition to believe that 
the Hartwich had bewitched the child, but it stands 
written, ‘Cursed are the ungodly,’ and the curse must 
cleave to all who come in contact with any such.” 

There was instantly a great commotion among the 
peasants drinking in the room. 

“This much is certain,” cried the pastor with great 
emphasis, “that every misfortune comes, directly or indi- 
rectly, from the Hartwich I” 

“ Yes, yes,” resounded from all parts of the room. 

“Whom has she benefited in any way ?” 

“ No one, no one I” 

“ Has she not tried to sow among you the seeds of her 
sinful doctrines? has she not, like the serpent of Eden, 
hissed into the ear of the sufferers to whose bedside she 
was admitted dreadful doubts, instead of pouring into 
them the balm of divine consolation ?” 

“Yes, yes, — she always spoke disrespectfully of our 
pastors and their office.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


277 


The clerical gentlemen looked mournfully at each other. 

“ She has tried to stir up rebellion against the Church I” 
cried the priest “ She even turned me ignorainiously 
from the doors when I went, in all the dignity of my 
office, to administer extreme unction to her servant Kuni- 
gunda, and she pretended in excuse that the maid was 
not going to die, and the ceremony would excite her and 
make her worse. She could not bear the sight of the 
Crucified beneath her roof She is an outcast from God 
and His Church. Centuries ago, such as she were burnt 
alive; there was good reason for it. But we all suffer, 
and must continue to suffer, from their presence among us. 
The devil has put on the cloak of philanthropy, beneath 
which he hides all such sinners, so that we cannot touch 
them.’’ 

“She is a poisonous sore in our flesh,” added the Prot- 
estant pastor, “and it stands written, ‘If thine eye offend 
thee, pluck it out;’ but we dare not cut out this sore that 
offends us.” 

“ Why not? — what is to hinder us?” shouted the excited 
peasants. 

“ Then you really believe that she has done this mis- 
chief to our poor child ?” said Keller with horror. 

“Well, if we cannot exactly believe that,” replied the 
Protestant pastor, “ we must confess that we see in the 
accident a sign from Providence that we should avoid 
her. This much is certain, that the stranger who drove 
over the child had been visiting the Hartwich, so that, if 
she had not dwelt among us, the accident would most 
assuredly never have occurred, for that furious woman 
would never have come here.” 

“The Hartwich is to blame for it all I” growled the 
drunken throng. 

“ She is, in one way or another,” continued the exposi- 
tor of Christian love. “I repeat, with my respected 
brother, every misfortune among us is her work.” 

“Yes, every misfortune is the work of the Hartwich I” 
yelled the chorus. 

“ Gracious heavens I See I look there I” cried one, point- 
ing to the windows. 

All looked out. 


24 


278 


ONLY A GIRL; 


** ’Tis the Hartwich herself 1” 

“Does she dare to come down here?” 

“She wants to see the misery she has caused!” 

“Holy Mother!” cried Keller, “she is going to my 
house!” And he rushed out. 

Like fermenting wine from a cask when the stopper is 
removed, the whole drunken throng rushed after him into 
the street. 

Priest and pastor remained behind, looking at one 
another. “ What shall we do?” asked one. “Ought we 
not to follow them, to prevent mischief?” 

“Let the people rage, my worthy friend,” replied the 
other. “It is not for us to interfere in such matters. 
She is not worthy of our protection, and the just indigna- 
tion of the people will find vent in words, that will not 
harm her, but that it will be well for her to hear. Vox 
populi, vox Dei!’’ 

“True, true,” assented the other. “We should not in- 
terfere with the public sense of right in such a case. 
She would not listen to us. Let her hear the truth from 
the mouths of the peasants ; perhaps it will have more 
effect upon her coming from them than from men of cul- 
ture like ourselves !” 

“Let us hope so,” said the Catholic father devoutly, as 
he seated himself by his Protestant colleague at an empty 
table, and filled his glass from the bottle of old wine that 
the host placed before him. 

“What is that?” asked Johannes softly, as a distant 
hum of approaching voices was heard. He sat with his 
hand still patiently supporting Kiithchen’s head, and 
would not draw it away, lest he should awaken the 
child. 

The schoolmaster went on tiptoe to the window and 
looked out. “I cannot tell what is the matter,” he said. 
“An excited crowd is rushing to and fro in the street, but 
I cannot see who they are or what it is all about.” 

“The people have not recovered from the event of this 
morning,” said Johannes. 

Meanwhile the noise drew near. Various abusive 
words were heard, and it seemed as if stones were 


OR A PHTSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


2t9 


thrown and fell upon the pavement. Shrill female 
voices cried quite distinctly, “ Not in here “ Go away I” 
“Put her out!’^ Boys shouted and whistled through 
it all. 

“Good heavens!” cried the schoolmaster, “they are 
persecuting a lady! Oh, yes! Herr Professor, look ! she 
is trying to escape into the houses! The women thrust 
her out and shut their doors upon her ” 

’“Brutes!” exclaimed Johannes, beside himself with 
rage, for one glance from the window had shown him how 
matters stood. 

“Holy Maria! they are throwing stones and apples at 
her!” cried Frau Keller. 

Johannes had rushed from the room as the school- 
master turned towards him with the words, “It is Frau- 
lein von Hartwich!” 

But, just as Johannes reached the stairs, Keller burst 
in, pale and agitated, and locked the door after him. 

“What do you mean?” cried Johannes. “Do you 
wish to shut me in here ?” 

“Ah, sir!” implored Keller, blocking up the passage, 
“do not open it, — the Hartwich wants to come in ” 

“ Well, then, let her in instantly ! why do you delay ?” 

“ For God’s sake, keep her out I” said Keller. 

“ Are you mad,” cried Johannes, “ that you would close 
your doors upon a fellow-being imploring protection? 
Open the door, or I will force the lock.” 

“ Sir, sir, my house is my own, if I am only a poor 
peasant !” cried Keller still blocking the entrance. “ This 
is the abode of honest labour, and no accursed foot shall 
cross its threshold.” 

The uproar without seemed stationary before the house. 
A shower of stones against the door showed that the per- 
secuted woman had fled hither. Johannes was no longer 
master of himself. His blood boiled in his veins, his 
heart throbbed to bursting. With the strength of a giant 
he seized the burly peasant by his broad shoulders and 
hurled him aside — almost into the arms of the school- 
master, who was coming to the rescue also. Then he tore 
open the door, and Ernestine fell half fainting at his feet. 
He caught her in his arms, and, as he stood thus shield- 


280 


ONLY A GIRL; 


ing her, cried, in a tone that left no doubt in the minds of 
his hearers as to the truth of his words, “ I’ll knock 
down the first man who dares to come near this lady.” 

A dull murmur arose. “ Let him try to stop us,” cried 
several, and clenched fists were shaken at him. 

“ Yes, I will try it, — but the man who dares me to try 
it will repent the trial I” threatened Johannes. And so 
commanding were his words and bearing that no one ven- 
tured further than to throw a stone or two, accompanying 
them with abusive epithets. Johannes drew Ernestine 
more closely to his side. “ Shame on you, cowards that 
you arel” He turned to Keller. “Will you still refuse 
a shelter to this lady? — you see that she can scarcely 
stand.” 

Keller looked at his wife, who had run out to them. 
“ Do not let her in 1” she cried. “ For God’s sake, keep 
her out ! has she not done us harm enough ?” 

Keller looked at Johannes and shrugged his shoulders. 
“ You see my wife will not allow it.” 

Johannes stamped his foot in despair. 

“ Are you human ?” 

“We hope so, sir,” said Keller, insolently thrusting his 
hands in his pockets. 

“ And far better than the friends of that woman there,” 
shouted the mob, and a small stone flew close past Jo- 
hannes. 

“ If I were as crazy as you are,” cried he, “ I should 
throw down upon you the stones that you have thrown at 
me here, and my aim would be better than yours. But I 
will not contend with drunken men or do battle with 
people who are not responsible for their actions ; all I ask 
of you is to give way and allow me to take this lady to 
her home.” 

The crowd maintained its place in a compact mass, and 
only replied by unintelligible words, from which, however, 
Johannes gathered that Ernestine’s punishment was not 
yet considered sufiBcient, and that she was not to be al- 
lowed to escape so easily. 

“ I will pay you whatever you ask, if you will only 
afford Fraulein von Hartwich shelter until I have quieted 
this tumult,” said Johannes to Keller. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


281 


“ You’ll get nothiug out of me, sir 1 Neither money nor 
fine words will get her across my threshold.” 

“ Mother, let her come in,” suddenly cried a voice that 
had a wonderful effect upon the mob. Kathchen had 
slipped from her bed unperceived, and in her distress had 
run out to her mother. She threw her uninjured arm 
around Ernestine’s knees, and looked up at her weeping. 
“ They shall not hurt you ; I love you so dearly !” 

“Jesus Maria I” shrieked Frau Keller. “ My child I my 
child !” She tore the little girl away from Ernestine, 
and, followed by her husband, carried her into the house. 

“ Do you want to kill yourself?” cried the father in 
despair. 

“No I I want the lady, I want the lady,” the child 
was still heard wailing from the room. 

A commotion now began, which threatened to be se- 
rious indeed. “ There, now, you see it with your own 
eyes, — the sick child even crawls out of bed to her. Don’t 
you see now that she is bewitched ? The Hartwich must 
leave the place this very day, or we’ll hunt her out of 
the village.” 

“ Men ! men I for God’s sake, what are you doing ?” 
said a gentle voice behind Johannes. 

“ Oho, the schoolmaster I” was now the cry. “Let him 
come down, — we’ve had our eyes upon him for a long time. 
Come down, schoolmaster, you shall be ducked for your 
friendship for the witch.” And again the human flood 
overflowed the lower step of the stairs at the head of 
which Johannes was standing. 

“ Back !” commanded Johannes, resigning Ernestine 
to the schoolmaster, “ back I now you see my arms are 
free.” 

Involuntarily the foremost recoiled at sight of his men- 
acing attitude. 

“ Deluded people,” cried Johannes, beside himself with 
indignation, “is there nothing sacred from your frantic 
rage,— neither a defenceless girl nor the gray head of your 
teacher ? What has he done, except spend his life in the 
thankless endeavour to make reasonable human beings of 
you ?” 

“ He is friends with the Hartwich, — it is his fault that 
24 * 


482 


ONLY A GIRL; 


she kissed the child. His house ought to be burned over 
his head 1” 

“Yes, yes !” roared the mob, “their holes should be 
burned out and destroyed — his and hers. Blasphemers 1 
Unbelievers I They shall yet learn to believe in God.” 

“ This is too much I” thundered Johannes. “ Would you 
prove your religion by becoming incendiaries? Woe 
upon you if you lay a finger upon what belongs to either 
of these people I Do you know the penalty for arson ? 
And, depend upon it, I will see to it that you do not 
escape.” 

A shout of rage arose at these words. 

“ Herr Professor,” said Leonhardt imploringly, “ do 
not aggravate these people further, — we cannot convince 
them. Children,” he called down to them, and his voice 
trembled with pain, not with fear, — “ children, I have 
grown old among you ; I know you better than you 
know yourselves. You are too wise to do anything that 
would subject you to the penalty of the law, and too kind 
to commit an outrage upon people who have never 
harmed you. You do not believe that I am an' unbe- 
liever. Have I not educated your children to be useful, • 
God-fearing men and women ? Have I not stood your 
friend in every time of trouble ? The little house, that 
you in your blind fury would destroy, has afforded many 
of you a peaceful shelter, — it is a sacred spot to your chil- 
dren, and could you lay a finger upon it ? Go to the 
church-yard and see if there is a single grave there of 
your loved ones that has not been adorned by flowers 
from my garden, and would you bury it beneath the ruins 
of my dwelling? No, do not try to seem worse than you 
are.” He placed Ernestine gently down upon the landing 
and stood in front of her. “ You know that your old 
master loves all God’s creatures, and would you condemn 
him for taking compassion upon the unhappy maiden 
whom no one pities, whom all hate ? Do you call me 
godless because I hoped to lead this erring but noble 
nature to find her God again ? Yes, take up your stones, 
— look 1 I will take off my cap and expose my white 
head to your aim. Where is the hand that will lift itself 
against it ? 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


283 


The old man stood with uncovered head, holding- his 
cap in his clasped hands. The evening breeze played 
amid his silver locks, and the stones that had been picked 
up were gently dropped again. 

Then his arm was drawn down by his side and a kiss 
was imprinted upon his withered hand. It was Ernes- 
tine. Johannes saw the act, and his eyes were moist. 
She could be grateful. He exchanged a happy glance 
with the old man to whom she had just paid such a 
tribute. 

“ He is only a weak old man,” muttered the people, — 
“let him alone. He means well.” 

“ I will go and bring their pastors,” said Leonhardt 
softly to Johannes, and he descended the steps. He 
walked qiiietl}'- through the midst of the crowd, that 
opened before him, but closed up again when he had 
passed through. 

“Come,” said Johannes, raising Ernestine from the 
ground, “ let us try to put an end to this wretched 
scene.” He carried rather than led her down the steps. 
“Make way there 1” he called in a commanding tone. 

The foremost in the mob gave way. J ust then Frau 
Keller appeared at the door. She held the cup of holy 
water, which usually hung above the bed, and she sprin- 
kled with its contents the spot where Ernestine had been 
standing. Her pious act was greeted with a shout of 
applause. Ernestine saw her, and trembled and turned 
pale, while large tears gathered in her eyes; she grew 
dizzy, and would have fallen had not Johannes supported 
her. 

“ Courage, courage,” he whispered, — “do not let such 
folly distress you.” 

“ Look, look I she cannot bear the holy water. She 
didn’t mind the stones, — but a few drops of water are too 
much for her.” Thus shouted the mob, and the uproar 
began again. 

“ Is this possible ?” cried Johannes, casting prudence 
tp the winds. “ Is it possible that in the nineteenth cen- 
tury, and in a civilized country, such utter barbarian 
stupidity should exist ? Do you really believe, if Frau- 
lein Hartwich were in league with the devil, that she 


284 


ONLY A GIRL; 


would have borne your abuse, that she would not have 
thrown her spells over you long ago, and escaped your 
brutality? Do you think that she listens to you from 
choice, and likes to have stones thrown at her? Why, 
the very patience and resignation with which she has 
endured your outrageous insults might prove to you that 
she has no supernatural power at her command, — that 
she has not even the protection of a bold nature, like the 
other lady, with whom you were justly indignant. But 
let me tell you that I am neither feeble nor weak, and 
that my patience is exhausted, and my power, although 
not supernatural, is quite sufficient to punish such excesses 
as this, and to conjure up among you a host of evil spirits 
in the shape of a detachment of gens-d’armes. There- 
fore be quiet, and let us pass on our way. Every mo- 
ment of delay increases the weight of the charges that I 
shall bring against you before the magistrate.” 

So saying, he put one arm about Ernestine, and with 
the other cleared a path for himself through the throng, 
who were somewhat quelled by his last words, and gave 
place grumbling. 

And now the clergymen, followed by the schoolmaster, 
appeared, with every sign of hurry and amazement. 

“ You come too late, gentlemen, to prevent what must 
cover those under your charge with shame,” said Jo- 
hannes with severity. “ I supposed such scenes impos- 
sible in our day. You, gentlemen, have taken care that 
I should be better informed, and have prepared a rich 
page in the history of our civilization. I am well aware 
from what source the insults heaped by these misguided 
people upon Friiulein Hartwich draw their inspiration, 
and I consider you, gentlemen, responsible for the 
restoration of order and the safety of this lady.” He 
drew Ernestine’s arm more firmly within his own, and 
walked on without waiting for a reply from the reverend 
gentlemen, who stood there speechless with alarm and 
embarrassment, looking after him with a degree of respect 
that they could not control. 

In silence the pair reached the castle and entered the 
garden. Ernestine passively allowed herself to be led 
through the shady walks. Involuntarily Johannes turned 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


285 


towards the little eminence where he had seen her for the 
first time. He had resolved not to leave Ernestine here, 
but to place her that very evening beneath his mother^s 
protection. How should he persuade her to such a step ? 
This was the question that he propounded to himself, 
breathlessly searching for the answer. 

Ernestine was for the time incapable of speech. She 
could not raise her eyes to her protector. Mortification, 
profound mortification, overpowered her. How thoroughly 
she had recognized his position as a man, and her own as 
a woman ! She admired him, — she was ashamed of her- 
self. What a feeling it was ! — yes, it was the same self- 
humiliation that she had felt once before, beneath the oak 
tree where, when flying as to-day from insults and sneers, 
she had met the handsome lad who had given her the 
prophetic book. But when would the prophecy in the 
fairy-tale be fulfilled ? When should she cease to be 
laughed at, despised, and insulted? When should the 
lonely, persecuted, weary swan unfold its plumage upon 
calm waters in sunshine and peace ? And in an access 
of pain she covered her face with her hands and burst 
into tears. She sank down upon the mound and sobbed 
like a child. Johannes stood silent before her. His mind 
was filled with the same thoughts, the same memories, 
and, like an answer to her mute soliloquy, there came 
from his lips, in tones of melting tenderness, the words, 
“ Poor swan !” Ernestine’s hands dropped from her 
face, she stared at him with wide-open eyes, — then 
sprang up, and, while her pale cheeks flushed, and her 
whole frame trembled, gazed at him still, as if she would 
look him through, her agitation increasing every moment. 
“ There — there is only one person on earth who knows 
that,” she faltered. 

“ What ?” asked Johannes with a beating heart. 

“ What I was thinking of — about the swan I” she ar- 
ticulated with difficulty, for her voice failed her. 

Johannes, who stood somewhat below Ernestine, looked 
up at her expectantly. “ And who is that person ?” he 
asked gently. 

Ernestine could not reply, — a strange thrill passed 
through her, and she awaited the issue of the miracle of 
the moment. 


286 


02^ LY A GIRL; 


“Ernestine, do you remember the lad who once rescued 
a wild, timid girl from mortal peril 

She bowed her head in assent. 

“ Ernestine, did you ever then for one moment in your 
childish heart think of him with love 

She raised her eyes to the twilight skies, and was silent 
for a moment ; then she breathed a scarcely audible “ Yes.’^ 

A light, feathery cloud hovered abo re her head. Was 
it the little mermaid, dead for her beloved’s sake, and, dis- 
solved in foam, borne away by the daughters of the air to 
eternal bliss? Could it return again, — that fair, half- 
forgotten love-dream of her childhood, — the only one she 
had ever dreamed ? 

And she looked after the floating cloud as it grew 
thinner and thinner, until it was gradually dissolved in 
air, and the gentle radiance of the evening star appeared 
where it faded. 

“ Ernestine, do you know me now?” said Johannes. 
“ See, this is the second time that God has placed me by 
your side to rescue you from a self-sought peril, and, as 
when I then brought you down from the broken bough, 
so now I open wide my arms to. you, and pray you, ‘ Seek 
refuge and safety here!’ Oh, little dryad, you are the 
same as then, for all that you have grown so tall and 
beautiful ! There are the same mysterious dark eyes, 
the same strange, lonely spirit imprisoned in the delicate 
frame, bewailing its Titan descent. I knew then that 
there was only one such creature in the world, — and I 
should have recognized you among thousands as I recog- 
nized you when you stood alone upon this hill. Wondrous 
and fairy-like creature that you are, if you do not dissolve 
in air at the touch of a mortal, come to this heart; if an 
earth-born being may approach you with earthly love, 
take mine and learn to love a mortal. Yes, pure, aspiring 
spirit, for whom this earth has never been a home, I am 
only a man, — and yet a faithful, true, and loving man 
Can you love me again ?” 

Ernestine stood immovable. She had raised her hands 
to her forehead, as one is apt to do at hearing the mys- 
terious, the incomprehensible. 

“ You do not speak ; have you no words for me ? Look, 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


287 


Ernestine, do you not remember the boy about whose 
neck you once clasped your trembling arms so willingly 

At last she stretched out both hands to the earnest 
speaker, with a look of unrestrained delight. “Johannes,’’ 
she cried, as tear after tear coursed down her cheek, “ Jo- 
hannes Mollner, — my childhood’s friend, — I know you 
now.” 

He hastened to her side, and opened his arms to clasp 
her to his heart, but she recoiled with such a burning 
blush, with such childlike alarm painted upon her face, 
that Johannes controlled himself, and only pressed her 
delicate hands to his lips. Her maidenly reserve was 
sacred to him. 


CHAPTER X. 

NOWHERE AT HOME. 

On this very evening there was a social meeting of the 
Professors at the Staatsrathin’s. Johannes had entirely 
forgotten, it. As the afternoon passed and evening ap- 
proached without bringing him, the Staatsrilthin grew 
really anxious about him, apart from the embarrassment 
which his absence caused with regard to her guests, to 
whom she knew not what excuse to make. She was 
walking to and fro in her garden behind the house, where 
her guests were to assemble and enjoy the lovely twilight 
in the open air. 

Suddenly Angelika joined her in breathless haste. 
“Mother, mother, I have found out where Johannes has 
been all day long 1” she cried, taking her hat off to cool 
her forehead, and throwing herself into a garden-chair. 
“Moritz has just got back from Hochstetten, whither he 
was called this afternoon, and he tells a wonderful tale. 
The whole village is in commotion, — the behaviour of the 
Hartwich has actually excited a tumult. There was an 
outbreak, and Johannes, — our Johannes, — publicly de- 
clared himself her champion 1” 


288 


ONLY A GIRL; 


The Staatsrathin clasped her hands and gazed incredu- 
lously at Angelika. “ Is this true 

“ Oh, this is not all I” Angelika went on to say. “ Mo- 
ritz did not even see Johannes, for he was all the time — 
now, be composed, mother — in the castle with the Hart- 
wich 1” 

“Good heavens I” cried her mother, seating herself 
upon a bench. “Has it gone so far already A long 
pause ensued. At last the anxious mother folded her 
hands in her lap and said softly to herself, “My son, my 
son, what are you doing?” 

Angelika said nothing, but turned away. The same 
evening star that had beamed so gently upon Ernestine 
and Johannes glittered in the tears which filled the sis- 
ter’s eyes as she looked up at it. 

“Angelika,” said her mother mournfully, “you should 
not have told me this without some preparation. You 
forget that I am grown old, and my many trials of late 
years have robbed me of the power of endurance that I 
once possessed. How much I have gone through since 
your uncle Neuenstein’s bankruptcy I All our misfor- 
tunes have come from Unkenheim, — your uncle’s unlucky 
scheme in the purchase of the Hartwich factory, the loss 
of three-fourths of our property in the affair, and the 
consequent necessity of our leaving our home that Jo- 
hannes might practise his profession for his livelihood 
here. And nothing of all this would have happened if 
we had never seen Unkenheim! And this wretched 
Hartwich girl comes too from that place! You will see 
that she is going to bring us additional misfortune! Shall 
we never draw a. free breath again ? Why should this 
creature disturb our dearly-purchased peace of mind?” 

“Mother dear,” Angelika entreated, kneeling down 
beside the Staatsrathin, “mother dear, do not cry now 
when we expect guests. Be comforted, — things will not 
go as wrong as you fear. Come, be again the calm, pru- 
dent mother who never seemed so great to me as in mis- 
fortune. I trust in God, and our Johannes ” 

She did not finish her sentence, but arose hastily, for 
several of their friends appeared at the garden-gate. The 
Staatsrathin, accustomed to control herself, had regained 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


289 


her self-possession, and received her guests with her usual 
graceful cordiality. 

Where is your son?’’ 

^‘Is your son not at home?” 

To this question, asked at least twenty times, she re- 
plied always with unwearied patience, “He was sud- 
denly called away, but I hope he will soon be here.” 

When old Heim appeared, he listened with a queer 
smile to the terrible tale that Angelika whispered into his 
ear. , 

“What a fellow he is, — this Johannes!” he said with 
kindly humour. “With her! with her at the castle! 
That’s going rather too fast, — eh?” 

“Oh, uncle !” cried Angelika, “is that all the sympathy 
you have for us in so grave a matter?” 

““Why, you see, my child, the matter does not seem so 
grave to me as to you. Johannes is a man, and knows 
what he is about. You act as if he were a beardless 
boy, whose nurse ought to follow him about. If this 
clever girl pleases him, it is a proof of his taste. What- 
ever you do, I will not league with you for all the be- 
seeching glances of those forget-me-not eyes of yours.” 
And the old gentleman seated himself deliberately upon 
Angelika’s straw hat, that she had forgotten to take from 
the chair where she had thrown it. “ God bless me I 
what kind of a cushion have you put in my chair?” he 
cried, producing, amid universal laughter, a flattened 
mass of straw and violets that bore not the faintest re- 
semblance to a hat. 

“ That comes of leaving one’s things about. Who 
would have supposed that 1 should go about in my old 
age sitting upon straw hats? Well, well, child, to-day 
is a day of misfortunes!” 

The company quickly assembled. The ladies seated 
themselves at t^ie large round tea-table, the gentlemen 
stood about in groups, and, as smoking was allowed, 
puffed forth blue clouds of smoke into the clear even- 
ing air. 

The moon began to cast a pale light through the crim- 
son evening glow. Night-moths fluttered hither and 
thither, and now and then a big booming beetle would fly 

25 


290 


ONLY A GIRL; 


around the heads of the startled ladies. The tired birds 
flew in among the bushes to seek their nests, arousing 
the alarm of the younger girls who were in great terror 
of bats. 

Suddenly a wiry voice without was heard chirping 
Kiickert’s song: 

“Yes, a household dear and blest 
Mine shall always be. 
ril invite there as my guest 
Him who pleases me.” 

And Elsa, leaning on her brother’s arm, appeared at the 
door. The Staatsratbin arose. 

“Ah, my dearest, motherly friend,” cried Elsa from 
afar, gliding towards her, “I am late, am I not? Gould 
my thoughts have borne me hither, I should have been 
with you long ago ; but imagine — our droschky lost a 
wheel — and we had to walk all the way.” 

“ I am very sorry,” said the Staatsratbin kindly. “ You 
must have had quite a fright.” 

“Yes, it was a most unfortunate intermezzo, disturb- 
ing our anticipations of the pleasant evening,” said Her- 
bert politely. 

“ Oh, it did not spoil my enjoyment,” laughed Elsa 
with pretty assurance, and she piped out the last couplet 
of her song ; 

“Thrown from the carriage should I be, 

A flowery grave awaiteth me.” 

“ The only thing to lament was our tardiness in reach- 
ing you, and I ran myself quite out of breath.” 

“Not quite 1” replied the Staatsratbin with a smile. 
“You were trilling very gaily as you came along the 
Bergstrasse.” 

“ Really, did you hear me ?” asked Elsa in charming 
confusion. “ My voice, then, was more fortunate than I, — 
it reached you sooner I” 

“ How is your wife ?” the Staatsrathin inquired of Her- 
bert. 

“ Thank you, — she is always the same. The constant 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


291 


spectacle of her sufferings, without the power to alleviate 
them, is almost too much for me.’’ 

The Staatsrathin looked compassionately at Herbert’s 
sunken cheeks. “ Poor Frau Herbert I and you too are 
greatly to be pitied I” 

“ I thank you for your sympathy, — it helps to lighten 
the burden of my anxiety on her account.” 

Elsa had not listened to this grave conversation ; she 
had already joined the company, and the Staatsrathin 
followed with Herbert. 

“A bat ! a bat !” cried one of the younger gentlemen 
as Elsa approached, and he pointed to a bird just whirring 
past. 

“ You are severe,” one of his brethren said to him in a 
low voice. 

“ Only look,” whispered a third, “ Herbert is as fine as 
usual in a dress coat. It is not fair to appear in full 
dress when he knows that by the rules of these meetings 
we are all to come in morning costume.” 

“It is his way, — no one could expect anything else of 
Herbert!” said Taun. 

“He’s a fool,” said Meibert, — “the charm of ease in an 
undress coat is one of the chief attractions of these meet- 
ings. At least I find it so.” 

“ So do I, so do I,” cried one and another of the party. 
Meanwhile Elsa was nodding and bowing in every direc- 
tion. She exulted in the consciousness of giving so much 
pleasure by her presence. She loved every one, and every 
one loved her. Earth was a paradise, full of faith, hope, 
and charity, — through it she fluttered like a kindly fairy 
at her own sweet will. She was a little alarmed at not 
seeing Mollner, and her gaiety received a severer check 
than when she had nearly found her “ flowery grave. ” But 
she comforted herself, — he would come, — he could not 
stay away from the place where Elsa was. And she 
determined not to visit his absence upon the company, — 
they were not to blame for it, — she would join in the con- 
versation. There was something touching in her good- 
humoured vanity. She would use the advantages which 
she was conscious of possessing over others only for their 
benefit. She took pleasure in her imaginary gift of con- 


292 


ONLY A GIRL; 


versation only because she could thereby amuse her dear 
friends by means of it. How should she know that she 
was ridiculed and laughed at? She saw that mirth 
abounded wherever she was. How could it be caused 
by anything but delight in her presence ? Her confidence 
in the esteem and love of her fellows was impregnable, 
for it was rooted in her unbounded confidence in her own 
excellence. Who would not love a creature so good, so 
talented, and withal so modest that she was kind and 
gentle to all? Why, no one could help it. This convic- 
tion inspired her in society with a self-possession that 
carried her untouched through all the contempt and sneers 
that she everywhere provoked, and kept her quiet self- 
sufficiency unruffled. Most happily for her, she felt all 
the blessing without an idea of the curse of mediocrity 
that attached to her in the presence of others. 

She was quite idyllic to-day, for Elsa in the midst of 
nature was a very different person, although scarcely less 
lovely, from Elsa in her study. She had encircled with 
leaves her large straw hat, — the wide brim of which kept 
flapping up and down as she tripped about, — and a nose- 
gay of wild flowers was stuck in her bosom. She loved 
wild flowers far more than garden flowers. Everybody 
admired garden flowers, — she pitied the wild flowers, and 
would atone by her love to the poor neglected blossoms 
of the field. Her delicate sense perceived beauty in the 
humblest thing that grew. She did not need grace of 
form and vividness of colour to impress her with the wis- 
dom of the Creator. Every dandelion, every blade of 
grass, was lovely in her eyes. How wondrous was its 
structure ! How its modest withdrawal from superficial 
eyes accorded with her own retiring nature I And then 
it was the prerogative of a poetic temperament to see 
what was hidden to all the world beside. It was a severe 
blow, therefore, to her tender heart when the professor of 
botany asked, “But, Fraulein Elsa, why have you brought 
a bunch of hay to a house noted for its capital suppers ?” 

“ Oh, you naughty man,” she pouted, “ you cannot 
tease me out of my love for these darlings.” 

“ Do you take all these weeds under your protec- 
tion?” asked the implacable professor. “Then you must 


/ 


OR A FRrrSICIAJV FOR THE SOUL. 293 

have enough to do when the cattle are driven out to 
pasture.” 

All laughed, and Elsa laughed too. She could take a 
jest. 

“ But,” she replied, “to fall a sacrifice to the stronger 
is a fate from which even Flora herself cannot shield her 
children. Thank God, they all grow again 1 I do not 
wish to save them from the animals whom they serve 
for food. It is an enviable lot to sustain life in others by 
one’s own death. I wish to shield them from the con- 
tempt of men. Is it not a sacred duty to espouse the 
cause of the despised ? And those who do not discharge 
it conscientiously in small matters will neglect it in more 
important things. So let me put my poor thirsty flowers 
in water, that they may lift up their little heads again.” 

They handed her a glass of water, into which the bota- 
nist recommended that a lump of sugar should be thrown, 
because, as he said, sugar-and-water was so much more 
nutritious. 

“ Go, go, naughty man,” said Elsa, arranging her bou- 
quet. “ Look! is not that lovely?” 

“ My good Fraulein Elsa,” cried the professor, “do not 
ask me to be enthusiastic over the beauty of a flower. * 
I have long lost the sense of delight that people feel at 
sight of a flower. The most beautiful flowers for me are 
those that furnish most matter for scientific investiga- 
tion.” 

“ What a prosaic point of view I” cried Elsa. “ Tell 
me, ladies, can there be anything more monstrous than 
a botanist who does not love flowers? It is as unnatural 
as for a musician to take no pleasure in music. It is 
treason to the scientia amabilisF 

“You say so,” replied the professor with some asperity, 

“ only because you do not know what is at the present 
day called ‘ the lovely science.’ I assure you, modern 
botany has, as De Bury remarks, no more right to this 
title than any other science. It is only the knowledge 
of a couple of thousands of names of flowers and the 
manifold conditions of their existence, — the examination 
into their manner of life, — in other words, the physiology 
of plants. The flower is not the end, but the means to 

25* 


294 


ONLY A GIRL; 


an end, the end of physics, physiology, and every other 
science : the discovery of the whole by a knowledge of 
a part Let this part be plant, man, or beast, we are all 
searching for the same laws, and it is just as unnecessary 
that a botanist should be fond of flowers as that a physi- 
ologist should be a philanthropist.” 

Elsa blushed rosy red at these words. “ Mdllner loves 
mankind, — I know he does,” she whispered. 

“ So much the better for him if he does,” said the pro- 
fessor smiling. “ That is a private satisfaction of his 
own, and we will not disturb it. But, seen in the light 
of his profession, men are no more to him than plants, — 
to me plants are no less than men. Both are to us only 
subjects for untiring investigation.” 

“ I cannot think' that of Mdllner,” said Elsa softly to 
herself. 

The botanist shrugged his shoulders compassionately 
and left her. When he rejoined his brethren, they ac- 
costed him with, “ It is easy to see that you have not 
been here long, or you would not try to preach reason 
into Elsa Herbert. Who could make a woman understand 
such things ?” And there was a burst of laughter, in which 
Hilsborn was the only one who did not join. He was 
never disposed to sneer. Although he himself could not 
overcome his dislike for Elsa, he was too amiable to put 
it into words. 

“ But, really, for one’s own sake it is best to make an 
attempt at least to enlighten the ignorant,” the botanist 
replied, when thus attacked. “ It is impossible to listen 
in silence to such nonsense.” 

“ Then, Fraulein Elsa, you consider it a blessed lot to 
be devoured by cows,” said a young private tutor, who 
had but just thrown off his student’s gown. 

Elsa was quite happy. She had not received so much 
attention for a long time. It was the consequence of her 
originality. How excellent, too, her spirits were to-day ! 
What a pity that Mdllner was not present to witness 
her triumph I 

“Yes,” she said gaily, “whatever is as perishable as 
a flower cannot die a more charming death than ” 

“ In a cow’s mouth,” laughed the skeptic. “ It is un- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 295 

fortunate that Fechner had not conceived this poetic Mea 
before he wrote his ‘ Nanna.’ ’’ 

“ Oh, you may ridicule anything in that way, if you 
choose to do so,” said Elsa. 

“ Do not vex our kind Elsa,” Angelika here interrupted 
the discussion, throwing her fair round arm around the 
other’s thin shoulders. Elsa dear, give me your nose- 
gay.” 

“ There, put it on your brother’s writing-table,” Elsa 
whispered in her ear. 

Angelika looked at her with compassion. “I will do 
what you ask, Elsa, but you know he does not care much 
for plucked flowers.” 

“ But perhaps he will value them when he knows that 
thev were plucked by the faithful hand of such a friend 
as i.” 

Angelika took the bouquet, and said hesitatingly, “I 
hope he will not be vexed, — he does not like to have 
anything placed upon his writing-table, — but I will try.” 

Hastily, as usual, Moritz came running through the 
garden just as Angelika was bending over Elsa. She 
turned, and found her husband’s sparkling black eyes 
resting upon her. 

“ Moritz,” she cried in delight, “ have you come at 
last?” 

“ Yes, my darling. I had another patient to see ; but 
now I am free to stay with you until to-morrow at eight, 
twelve whole hours. Is not that fine ?” 

“ Fine indeed I” repeated Angelika, and poor Elsa list- 
ened to these loving speeches, longing for the time when 
such happiness should be hers. 

“ Come,” said old Heim, plucking Moritz by the sleeve, 

“ we cannot live upon your pretty speeches to your wife, 
and they may spoil our appetites. Your mamma begs 
you to play the part of host at supper.” 

“Come, Angelika,” said Moritz, drawing Angelika’s 
arm through his own. He never took any other woman 
than his wife to supper. 

This was a trying moment for Elsa, for it was her usual • 
fate to be left sitting still when supper was ready or a 
dance was in prospect. She must either join herself to 


296 


ONLY A GIRL; 


some other unfortunate, similarly neglected, or perhaps 
be offered a left arm by some good-natured man already 
provided with a lady upon his right. Ah, her knight, her 
Lohengriin, was not there, he who would one day rescue 
her forever from this solitude. Where was he ? Why 
did he not come ? And in her distress she turned to one of 
the gentlemen who had just finished smoking and was 
approaching the circle of ladies. “ Do you not know 
where Professor Mdllner is?” 

The gentleman was a young assistant surgeon, whom 
Moritz had taken to the village with him that afternoon. 
The latter, as he passed, whispered in his ear, “ Do not 
tell.” 

The young man looked confused, and just then Herbert 
approached and said maliciously, “You were in Hoch- 
stetten this afternoon, where Professor Mdllner played his 
usual part of good Samaritan ? I heard you telling Hils- 
born about it, — pray favour us too with the interesting 
story.” 

He laid his hand, as if unconsciously, upon his sister’s 
shoulder, but its heavy pressure told her that it was not 
done either unconsciously or kindly. 

“ We all know very well that Mdllner never allows an 
insult to pass unpunished,” said Hilsborn, “ and you 
should know it, Herr Herbert, better than any of us.” 

“True, I have had occasion to be convinced of the 
interest that Mdllner takes in Fraulein von Hartwich, 
although it is by no means so dangerous to correct an 
erring professor as an enraged mob.” 

“ What? what is it?” ran from mouth to mouth, and 
the company drew together in a large group. 

“ Permit me,” said Moritz in a loud voice to Herbert, 
“to be the interpreter of my brother-in-law’s conduct, as 
I certainly understand it better than a stranger. The 
truth is, the Hartwich was insulted by a Hochstetten 
mob, and my brother-in-law interfered to prevent her 
from receiving personal injury.” 

“ Ah,” said Herbert, as if he were comprehending it 
• all for the first time, “this, then, was the generous motive 
that took your brother two miles from town to that re- 
tired village ?” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 291 

“ I myself have never yet presumed to cross-examine 
my brother-in-law as to his motives, — I leave the bold un- 
dertaking to you,’’ replied Moritz, challenging Herbert 
with his keen glance. 

“ What can have happened there ?” 

“ What did the Hartwich do ? A whole village certainly 
does not rise against a private individual without some 
cause.” 

“This Hartwich must be a dreadful person 1” Such 
were the remarks made by one and another. 

“ Gentlemen, let me pray you to come to supper,” said 
the Staatsruthin, who was evidently embarrassed. 

But her invitation was unheeded. All the ladies and 
several gentlemen had, like hungry wolves, had a taste 
of the interesting subject, and they were not to be tempted 
by the promise of other food. There was no end to their 
amazement and conjectures. To be sure, it was impossible 
to express before Mollner’s relatives all that was thought, 
but they could gain some information by their questions. 

They could not understand how Professor Mdllner 
could befriend such a person. It was no wonder that 
public opinion was so opposed to her. 

“ Yes,” said Elsa, “ Christian love should be shown to 
every sinner, but this woman puts our sex in such alight 
that really one blushes at being a woman. I can say, with 
Gretchen, that humanity is dear to me, but this Hartwich 
displays such shamelessness, such vulgarity of mind, that 
it becomes the duty of those possessed of any sensibility 
to suppress all compassion and to regard her with abhor- 
rence.” 

“ Tell me, then, Fraulein Elsa,” Hilsborn here inters 
rupted her, “ what becomes of your former assertion that 
the cause of the despised and neglected should always be 
espoused by the true Christian, as in the case of your 
field-flowers ?” 

Elsa blushed, and stroked back her curls. 

“But, my dear friend,” remarked the bctanist, “the 
Hartwich is not a field-flower.” 

“ Certainly not one that cows can eat, for she is poison- 
ous,” said Herbert. 

“ Oh, there are reptiles that feed on hemlock,” said old 


298 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Heim with irritation. “ But, whether she be hemlock or 
belladonna, we all know that both are medicinal, and she 
might perhaps be useful as an antidote to the affectation 
and hypocrisy that infect the feminine world of to-day, 
producing bigotry, malice, and all sorts of moral dis- 
eases.” 

“ That was going almost too far,” Moritz whispered to 
the old man, who passed him grumbling thus, with his 
hands clasped behind him. “I cannot abuse her any 
more, for Johannes’s sake, but I do wish the devil had her 
rather than Johannes should have her 1” 

Heim looked at him and contracted his white, bushy 
eyebrows... “ To that nonsense all I say is, we will talk 
about it at some future time.” 

The Staatsrathin approached. “ Uncle Heim, you are 
blinded by your partiality. Convince us that this person 
ts anything else than a brazen-faced claimant for noto- 
riety, and God kno'ws what besides, — convince us of this, 
and we will beg her pardon, — but, until then, we must be 
allowed to consider any intercourse with her, on my son’s 
part, as a misfortune. Now give me your arm ; we must 
go to supper.” 

“ Yes, let us go. I am tired, and shall be glad of 
something to eat,” said the old gentleman, conducting 
the Staatsrathin into the house, where the table was 
laid. 

The others followed, and Elsa fluttered after them like 
the last swallow of autumn. They all entered the house 
by the large door opening upon the garden. Directly op- 
posite was the door leading into the street. They began, 
laughing and talking, to ascend the stairs to the dining- 
room, when a carriage drove up. The Staatsrathin, who 
led the way, stopped and listened intently. It might be 
Johannes. 

The door was at that instant thrown open, and he ap- 
peared, — but not alone. There was a lady leaning on 
his arm. 

A murmur of surprise was heard. 

Johannes was quite as much astonished at unexpect- 
edly encountering such an assemblage as the guests were 
at. his entrance with a veiled lady, who was evidently 


OR A PHYSICIAN' FOR THE SOUL. 


299 


embarrassed and desirous to withdraw when she saw so 
many people. But Johannes detained her. “ I pray you, 
remain,” he said to her, “you have no cause for alarm.” 

The Staatsrathin leaned heavily upon Heim’s arm, her 
knees trembled under her. 

“ Compose yourself,” the old man whispered in her 
ear. “ Submit to the inevitable, — remember that your 
son is master of the house.” 

“ I shall not forget it,” she replied softly, yet with bit- 
terness. 

In the mean time, Johannes had reached the staircase 
with the evidently reluctant Ernestine. “ My dear mo- 
ther,” he said, looking up at her with a face radiant with 
pleasure, “ I bring you another guest.” 

The Staatsrathin descended a couple of stairs with the 
air of one compelled to receive a guest whose visit she 
regards as anything but welcome. 

“ Fraulein von Hartwich,” said Johannes, presenting 
her at once to his mother and his assembled friends, “ has 
been persuaded by me to seek an asylum for this night 
beneath our roof, as her uncle is absent from home, 
leaving her alone and defenceless, the object of a low, 
and brutal conspiracy.” 

“ You are welcome, Fraulein von Hartwich,” said the 
Staatsrathin with cold courtesy, without offering Ernes- 
tine her hand, or relieving her embarrassment in any way. 
“Let me entreat you to share our simple meal. Unfor- 
tunately, we can postpone it no longer, as we have already 
been obliged to wait some time for my son.” 

And, without another word to Ernestine, she led the 
way with Heim to the dining-room. 

Ernestine’s heart throbbed. What a reception was 
this! To what a humiliation had she exposed herself! 
Was not running the gauntlet here a thousand times 
worse than being stoned in the village by rude peasants ? 
“ Let me go,” she said, taking her hand from Johannes’s 
arm. “ I feel that I am unwelcome to your mother.” 

“Ernestine,” said Johannes, “you are my guest, and 
I will not let you go. Forgive my mother’s cold recep- 
tion. It is not meant for you, but for the distorted char- 
acter of you that she has heard. Remain, and convince 


300 


ONLY A GIRL; 


her that you are not what she thinks, and you will be 
treated by her like a daughter.*’ 

“ Oh, my only friend, 1 obey you, but I do it with a 
heavy heart. It would have been better for you to let 
me go to old Leonhardt for a couple of days.” 

“ How could you have gone to old Leonhardt ?” Jo- 
hannes interrupted her impatiently. “ It would have been 
visited upon him if he had received you. And it was 
equally impossible for you to pass this night alone in the 
castle without your uncle. You must be content to re- 
main under my protection. Is that so hard ?” 

“ Oh, no,” said Ernestine, with a grateful look, — “but 
the others I” 

“ I am sorry that we arrived just in the midst of this 
crowd. Everything would have gone well if we had not 
encountered them just upon the stairs. I would have 
taken you to my study, where no one goes, — you could 
have rested there until these people were gone and my 
mother had prepared your room for you. But, since they 
have seen you, you must not hide yourself like a criminal. 
There are some here who already wish you well, and 
many others whose regard you will soon win.” 

“ I am far more afraid of these people than of the 
angry peasants,” said Ernestine sorrowfully. “ I am so 
tired.” 

“Poor child I” said Johannes kindly. “I know you 
are, but do it for my sake. Will you not ? I shall be 
so glad to have you by my side, and so proud to show 
them all that you accept me as your friend.” 

“Well, then, I will do as you say,” said Ernestine sub- 
missively, and she ascended the stairs with Johannes. 

At the door of the supper-room she laid aside her hat 
and shawl, and he looked admiringly at her lovely pale 
face, with the noble intellectual brow and the large mel- 
ancholy eyes, and at her tall slender figure. Who that 
saw her could withstand her? He was so proud of 
her I 

As they entered, the guests stood around the table, 
awaiting him. The impression that she produced was 
an extraordinary one. It was as if one of those pale 
ethereal female figures in Kaulbach’s “Battle of the 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


301 


Huns’^ had stepped out of the frame. No one had ever 
seen before such ideal and melancholy beauty in real life. 
In an instant all were silent, and gazed earnestly at the 
rare spectacle. 

“By Jove I she’s a dangerous woman,” whispered 
Moritz to the Staatsrathin. 

“ Indeed she is I” she replied, scarcely able to take her 
eyes away from her. “My poor Johannes 1” 

“ You don’t see such a woman every day 1” growled 
old Heim with pride. “ Didn’t I always say she would 
turn out a beauty ?” 

“ The fact is, she is divine, and I shall love her dearly I 
Now say what you please,” whispered Angelika. And, 
without waiting for a reply from either husband or mother, 
she flew across the room to Ernestine, who was standing 
overwhelmed with confusion, and cried, “ Fraulein Er- 
nestine, do you not remember me ?” 

Ernestine looked at her for a few seconds. “ This must 
be little Angelika.” 

“ Rightly guessed,” said the young wife, and, standing 
on tiptoe, she pressed her rosy lips to Ernestine’s delicate 
mouth. 

Then Moritz approached, and said in his blunt, half- 
jesting way, “ And I am the husband of this wife. My 
name is Kern, and I am, besides, one of the monsters who 
had the courage to close the doors of our lecture-rooms 
in the face of a most beautiful woman.” 

Ernestine opened her eyes wide at this address, but, 
appreciating his humour, smiled gently. 

“And indeed,” he continued, “I do not repent in the 
least that I did so, now that I see you, — for not a student 
would ever have learned anything with such a comrade 
beside him.” 

Ernestine cast down her eyes, and, confused and 
ashamed, said not a word. 

Moritz turned from her, and, with a paternal tap upon 
Johannes’s shoulder, said to him, “ Upon my word, you’re 
not to blame for admiring her.” 

“ Men are all alike,” said the Staatsrathin in a whisper 
to Frau Professor Meibert. “ My son-in-law, who never has 

26 


302 


ONLY A GIRL; 


a word to say to any woman but his wife, is already be- 
witched by her pretty face.” 

“ Yes, and thejre is my husband making his way towards 
her,” was the reply. “ It must be admitted that she is 
quiet and modest.” 

“ Still waters run deep 1” said the Staatsrathin. 

“ Yes, that’s true 1” said the other with a nod. 

“ What do you think, Herr Professor,” said Taun’s wife 
to Herbert with an admiring glance at Ernestine, “of 
our having tableaux vivants next winter ? Would it not 
be beautiful to have her with Angelika for the two Leo- 
noras ?” 

“Better try Hercules and Omphale. Let the Hartwich 
be Omphale, and set Professor Mollner at the spinning- 
wheel. That would make a charming picture I” remarked 
Herbert. 

“ I hear you do not like her,” said Frau Taun, “ but 
now that I see her I cannot believe all the terrible things 
that are told of her. And Mollner, too, is not the man to 
seat himself at the spinning-wheel, even though she were 
Omphale, — your characters do not fit.” 

Herbert shrugged his shoulders. 

“Now, my dear friend,” Mdllner’s clear voice was heard 
saying, “allow me. to make you more intimately ac- 
quainted with your friends and foes. Here is an old 
friend of yours. Professor Hilsborn. * Do you not re- 
member him ?” 

“We met once at a children’s party,” Hilsborn ex- 
plained, “ and you, with the rest of us, threw stones at a 
glass ball tossed up by a fountain. You came off from 
the contest victorious, and were the object of envy and 
hostility in consequence.” 

Ernestine blushed. “ Oh, yes, now I know. You were 
that gentle, amiable boy, — the adopted son of Dr. Heim ; 
but — where — where is Dr. Heim ?” 

“ Here he is,” said the old gentleman, fixing his pene- 
trating eyes upon her. Ernestine held out her hand, but 
she could not endure his glance, and her own sought the 
ground. 

“ Oh, Father Heim, — may I still call you so?” 

“That’s right,” cried the old man. “ Then you have 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOB THE SOUL. 


303 


not forgotten?” And he laid his hand kindly upon her 
head. 

“ How could I forget you, when you saved my life ?” 

“ Aha,” said Heim to her so softly that no one else 
could hear what he was saying, “ don’t be afraid child, — 
I shall stand up for you before all these people, but to 
you yourself I must say that my heart bleeds for you, 
and that if I did not hope that all the stupid stuff with 
which your little head is crammed would one day give 
place to something infinitely better, I should almost re- 
pent patching it up in days gone by. Don’t be vexed, 
my child, you don’t like to hear this from me, — per- 
haps you may be better pleased to hear it from some 
one else. And now God bless your coming to this 
house !” 

Ernestine made no reply, but his words produced a 
deep impression upon her. A tear trembled upon her 
eyelashes as she stood silently before him. Mollner then 
gave her his arm, and they all took their seats at table. 
Heim sat upon her right hand, and Taun and Hilsborn 
were opposite her. Then came Moritz with Angelika, 
and Herbert with Erau Taun, while the Staatsrathin sat 
upon Heim’s right. 

“ Permit me to present my friend Professor Taun,” said 
Mollner after they were seated. 

“ A friend I” added the latter to Mollner’s words. 

“ He is one of those who voted in your favour,” Mdll- 
ner explained. 

“ I thank you,” said Ernestine, “ in the name of my sex.” 

“ I cannot appropriate all your thanks to myself. They 
are due first to my dear friends Heim and Hilsborn, for 
they fought for you more bravely than I, to whom you 
were personally a stranger.” 

“ Really, Father Heim, did you vote for me ?” asked 
Ernestine in surprise. 

“Well, yes,” grumbled Heim, vexed that Taun had 
told of it. ‘‘ The thing that you sent in was not bad, and 
I would have liked to open a wider field for your rest- 
less spirit, where you might find something better to 

do,” here he sunk his bass voice to a whisper, — “than 

abuse God Almighty as a dog bays the moon, and 


304 


ONLY A GIRL; 


make all honest folk your enemies with your atheistical 
stuff.” 

Ernestine started with a sudden shock. Was this, then, 
urged against her ? She was amazed. Were there really 
people in these enlightened circles who could be shocked 
at her skepticism ? Had Leuthold spoken falsely when he 
assured her that true culture was synonymous with eman- 
cipation from all religious prejudices? And who were 
the cultivated class, if these professors and their wives 
were not ? 

“Are you wounded by our friend’s rough manner?” 
asked Taun, sorry for Ernestine’s confusion. “ You must 
know of old what a noble kernel is concealed within that 
rough shell.” 

“ Who is talking about me ?” Moritz cried out to them. 
“I am sure I heard ‘noble Kern,’ and that must be 
meant for me.” 

“ Let those three alone, you vain fellow 1” laughed 
Johannes, signing to him not to disturb their grave dis- 
course. 

Ernestine looked sadly at Heim. “ Father Heim used 
to be kinder to me. He was never so harsh to me 
before.” 

“ Of course not,” said Heim in a low voice. “ Then 
you were a thing made of blotting-paper, that a breath 
might have destroyed. We were content only to keep 
you alive, and, as is apt to be the case with delicate 
children, we forgot, in our anxiety about your physical 
health, to take due care of your mind.” 

“Well, well, never mind that now,” said Taun. “I 
am not at all afraid that you will long fail of finding the 
right. Your writings give evidence of such uncommon 
talent that I should not wonder if you became the most 
learned woman of the age.” 

Ernestine’s eyes flashed. She raised her head like a 
thirsty flower in a summer rain. “ The most learned 
woman of the age 1” The words touched her weak point, 
and penetrated the inner sanctuary of her ambition. Heim’s 
harshness was forgotten. “ How can you say this to me, 
in a century that has produced a Caroline Herschel and 
a Dorothea Rodde ?” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


305 


Herbert, who from a distance had been listening to the 
conversation, turned to Moritz and asked him in a low 
voice, “Who is Dorothea Rodde ? Of course I have 
heard of HerschePs sister, — just because she was Her- 
chePs sister, — but I know nothing of the other.” 

“ Don’t ask me,” laughed Moritz. “I have too much 
to do to busy myself about the wonders worked by all 
the blue-stockings immortalized in the pages of trashy 
annuals.” 

Ernestine shot an angry glance at him. She had heard 
what was said, and she was indignant. 

It was the drop too much when Angelika asked across 
the table, “Johannes, pray tell us — the gentlemen want 
to know — who Dorothea Rodde is.” 

Johannes shrugged his shoulders. “ I do not know.” 

“ What, ’you I Do you not know?” said Ernestine. 
“ Is it possible I Does no one know that woman — the 
famous daughter of that great mao Schlager? She only 
died in eighteen hundred and twenty-four, and is she for- 
gotten already ?” 

“ She cannot have materially advanced the cause of 
science,” said Johannes, “or she would not have been 
forgotten.” 

“ Such a rarely-endowed individual as this woman 
must, I should suppose, always be an object of scientific 
interest, even if she did not directly advance the cause 
of science itself. It must surely be interesting to physi- 
ologists, as well as to psychologists, that a woman has 
lived capable of learning all that Dorothea Rodde learned, 
even although she taught nothing. All cannot create. 
Many men have been held in high esteem for diligence 
alone. Besides, Dorothea would have achieved greatness 
if she had not committed the folly of marrying, thus 
arresting her scientific development in the bud and re- 
tiring entirely from public view. She buried herself 
alive, and the world is always ready to strew ashes 
upon a woman’s coffin. Had she been a man, every one 
would have known that, when a boy of seventeen, he could 
speak all the dead and living languages, was thoroughly 
versed in chemistry, medicine, anatomy, and mineralogy, 
and in his eighteenth year, after a brilliant examination, 
26 ^ 


306 


ONLY A GIRL; 


received the degree of doctor of philosophy from the Uni- 
versity of Gottingen I But it was only a girl who achieved 
all this thus early; and if the less envious time in which 
she studied acknowledged her superiority, the more pru- 
dent present ignores it all the more utterly.” 

A painful silence ensued. Every one was busied with 
his or her own thoughts. Every one felt confused. This 
beautiful, placid Ernestine had suddenly showed her 
claws 1 

The Staatsrathin silently laid down her knife and fork, 
— she bad lost all desire to eat. 

Johannes looked sadly at Ernestine, and gently shook 
his head. Herbert alone grew more cheerful as the rest 
seemed disturbed, and looked down the table at Elsa, who 
sat at the other end, lost in melancholy reverie as she 
drew several flowers and grasses out of the laTge vase on 
the table, intending, like Ophelia, to deck herself with 
them ; but, alas, Hamlet had no eyes for her sweet mad- 
ness ! 

“ May I request you to present me to the lady ?” Her- 
bert asked Johannes. 

“Herr Professor Herbert,” said the latter, and added 
with emphasis, “your bitterest opponent!” 

Ernestine bowed slightly and looked coldly at Her- 
bert. 

“Permit me,” he began sneeringly, “to beg you to 
inform me, Friiulein von Hartwich, — I ask solely for in- 
struction in the matter, — what possible scientific interest 
the fact that a woman spoke several languages — she 
could hardly have spoken all, as you declared — could 
possess.” 

“Yes, I too am curious upon that point!” cried Moritz. 

Ernestine looked gravely from one to the other. “I 
am quite ready to explain it to you. I should not, indeed, 
have ventured to do so if you had not asked me, for it 
would have seemed to me insulting to suppose that you 
could need any such explanation.” 

“That shot told,” Moritz remarked comically. 

“We are foes, gentlemen, and I am bent upon vic- 
tory,” said Ernestine. “I think the facility of acqui- 
sition shown by Dorothea Rodde is certainly as sig- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


SOT 


nificant a fact in natural history as any example of extraor- 
dinary instinct in animals, for which zoologists search 
so untiringly. Or is the natural history of women less 
interesting than that of the ape?” 

“We are not used to compare or to speak of women 
thus,” Mdllner interposed. 

“Then, if you really accord us an equality with men in 
the scale of creation, Dorothea’s eminent talent must cer- 
tainly be of scientific interest, because it must assist in 
the investigation of the relative weight of the masculine 
and feminine brain, — a point not yet solved, the social 
importance of which is not recognized, or it would not 
be treated with such frivolous indifierence. I, gentle- 
men, am convinced that the great contest for the eman- 
cipation of woman can be settled only through physi- 
ology, since* that alone can prove whether the material 
conditions of the thinking mechanism are equal in men 
and women ; and, if they are, who would deny a woman 
the right to assert her independence of man, even in the 
world of the intellect?” 

“But we have not yet reached this point,” said Jo- 
hannes. “This equality has not yet been proved.” 

“Nor has the contrary,” said Ernestine. “Therefore 
.it seems to me that it would be well worth while for 
physiology to come to the aid of history, and test the 
material brain of famous women.” 

“And what end would that serve?” 

“ Can you ask that question seriously? Would not the 
result of such investigations, if it were favourable to 
women, strike a blow at our present social arrangements 
in the relations of the sexes ? And would not the render- 
ing such an aid to true social harmony be a triumph for 
physiology, of which it might well be proud?” 

“It would be all very well,” said Moritz, “if the 
whole question were worth the trouble.” 

“Of course it is not worth it for you, but it is for us. 
What do men care about the position of woman, — her 
capacity or her incapacity ? If your wives fill their po- 
sition, — that is, if they are your obedient servants, have 
sufficient capacity for cooking, and can bring up your 
children, — all is as it should be, as far as you are con- 


308 


ONLY A GIRL; 


cerned, and the most important problem of mankind, in 
the social system, is solved to your satisfaction.’’ 

A unanimous murmur arose at this accusation, but 
Ernestine was now greatly excited, and she continued, 
“It was the pain I felt at this narrow-minded indifference 
that led me to devote myself to natural science. I will 
do what I can to induce scientific me-i to turn their at- 
tention in this direction. Do not smile: even if I can do 
nothing for this cause myself, I would cheerfully dedicate 
my existence to arousing the interest of others in the 
subject; If I can prevail upon some less scrupulous uni- 
versity to afford me an opportunity for pursuing the 
requisite anatomical and physiological studies, these 
physical and psychical investigations shall be the sole 
occupation of my life.” 

“But, Fraulein von Hartwich,” said Johannes se- 
riously, “what would you discover that could further 
your desires? We have proved conclusively that the 
feminine brain absolutely weighs less than the mascu- 
line, and ” 

“ Have you proved that superiority depends only upon 
weight?” 

“Not precisely, but it certainly does in most in- 
stances.” 

“In most instances? but if it is not proved to do so in 
all, the question is far from settled. It is true that Byron, 
Cuvier, and others had remarkably weighty brains, but, on 
the other hand, the brains of certain philosophers, as, for 
example, Hermann and Hausmann, weighed less than the 
ordinary feminine brain. We are then led to suspect that 
superiority depends upon the relation of the brain to the 
rest of the body, — perhaps upon the relation of difierent 
portions of the brain to each other, or the quantity of the 
gray matter. The only sure acquisition that physiology 
may be able to boast in this matter is that the relative 
weight of the feminine is not lighter than that of the 
masculine brain.” Her eyes glowed with enthusiasm. 
“ Oh, how gladly would I die if I could only succeed 
in casting a ray of light upon this chaos I” 

“ But, Fraulein von Hartwich,” Herbert began with an 
ex cathedra air, “as woman is in all respects weaker and 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


309 


more delicate than man, is it not natural that her brain 
also should be smaller and lighter, rendering her incapa- 
ble of as great intellectual exertion?” 

“But, Herr Professor,” replied Ernestine with a slight 
smile, “I have just said that superiority depended upon 
the relative, not the absolute, weight. Were it otherwise, 
the largest and strongest man would be the wisest, and 
you, sir, would have less ability than any one present, 
for you are the smallest man here.” 

Again there was an embarrassed silence. Many could 
scarcely suppress their laughter as they saw the angry 
look of the little man. Others found the scene painful to 
witness. Such conduct on the part of a lady was un- 
precedented in the annals of professorial gatherings, and, 
although those who were acquainted with Ernestine 
found her behaviour perfectly natural from her stand- 
point, strangers to her were inexpressibly shocked, — none 
more so than the Staatsrathin, to whom the girl’s every 
word was like acid to an open wound. 

It was the old story over again. She was unlike the 
others, and, without meaning it, frightened them all away. 
Wherever she went, the curse of eccentricity attached to 
her. No one shared her interests, — she had nothing in 
common with any one, — she was, and must continue to be, 
alone 1 Even Johannes grew thoughtful and silent. She 
timidly sought his eye, but he did not look at her. 

Elsa, although she had no public, was still playing 
Ophelia, and was pondering upon the sweetness of the 
service she could render if it were only asked of her. Ah, 
no one wanted to see how charmingly she could obey. 
And she softly hummed to herself, in English, Ophelia’s 
words, 

“ Larded all with sweet flowers, , 

Which bewept to the grave did go 
With true-love showers.” 

Frau Taun looked gravely across at Ernestine. She 
ceased to anticipate tableaux vivants , — nothing could be 
done with such material. And then the conversation at 
table I She really could not expose her young guests to 
listen to anatomical treatises. 

Herbert noticed the breach that had been made in Frau 


310 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Taun’s good opinion, and hastened to throw a bombshell 
into it. “ She has not the slightest sense of refinement.’^ 

The ladies in the vicinity nodded assent. 

Heaven be thanked I this combination of beauty and 
learning was wanting in what they possessed in fullest 
measure, and she had already succeeded in making her- 
self disagreeable to the gentlemen who had been so im- 
pressed by her appearance. 

One lady plucked the sleeve of her neighbour. “ See 
her sit with her elbows upon the table I” 

“ How coarse 1” 

“ There now, see how quickly you have made enemies 
of all these people,” whispered old Heim. “ You are not 
wrong from your point of view, — but where is the use of 
battering so at the door of a house where you have been 
received as a guest? If you wish to associate with man- 
kind, you must not go about treading upon their toes.” 

“ I do not wish to associate with these people,” said 
Ernestine. 

“ Oh, yes, you do! You must wish it. Do you sup- 
pose that you need no help, no support, — that you can 
get along entirely alone in the world ? How unpractical ! 
how terribly exaggerated I” 

“ 1 do not understand you. Father Heim.” 

“ I don’t suppose you do ” 

Angelika here interrupted the conversation, saying, as 
she handed Ernestine a plate of apricot creme, which was 
greatly lauded, .“You must eat some of this, Friiulein 
Ernestine. I made it myself, and I am very proud 
of it.” 

“ You have just heard how Fraulein von Hartwich 
despises the noble art of cookery. Don’t pride yourself 
upon it before her,” sneered Moritz. 

Angelika compassionated Ernestine’s mortification at 
these words, and, while the other ladies were deep in a 
discussion regarding the preparation of the delicious 
creme, she said kindly, “ You are quite right in lamenting 
that we women attach so much importance to such 
things, but they are part of our daily life, and we can- 
not entirely ignore them. Why did God give us organs 
of taste, if we are not to enjoy the flavour of our food ? 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


311 


It is so natural to try to make the life of those whom we 
love pleasant, even by the most trivial means, amongst 
which are justly ranked eating and drinking.” 

“ Forgive me for asking the question,” said Ernestine, 
“ but could not their enjoyment be equally well secured 
by the hands of a cook while you were employing your 
time with something better ?” 

“ Yes,” cried Angelika, amid general amusement, “ if 
we had the money to pay eighty gulden for an excel- 
lent cook. But, as we have not, one must either super- 
intend matters one’s self, or put up with bad cooking. 
And you would not have a poor man, coming hungry and 
tired from his day’s work, do that. No, I assure you, 
when I see Moritz enjoying something that I have pre- 
pared for him myself, it gives me almost as much pleasure 
as it does to feed a child.” 

Ernestine looked at her blankly. This was entirely 
beyond her horizon. 

Angelika continued: “But indeed it does not make 
us servants. A service rendered for love cannot degrade, 
— voluntary obedience is not slavery. We must be guided 
by some one in life, — why not by a husband who pro- 
tects and labours for us ?” And she held out her hand to 
Moritz. 

“ But,” said Ernestine, “ if we learn to labour for our- 
selves we need be beholden to no one, — dependent upon 
no one.” 

“ Oh,” said Angelika, with a charming smile and a 
roguish glance at Moritz out of her large innocent eyes, 
“ we cannot do without them, these stern lords of crea- 
tion, — at least I could not live without Moritz, if I were 
ever so rich and wise.” 

Loud applause greeted this frank declaration ; itsqemed 
as if a sudden breath of fresh air were admitted into a 
sultry, closed apartment, — all breathed more freely. An- 
gelika’s genuine sunny nature was a relief to every one, 
after the distorted, gloomy views that Ernestine had 
broached. 

“And you expect to bring that fool to reason ?” whis- 
pered Moritz to Johannes. 

“ Yes,” replied the latter curtly. 


312 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ Well, I wish you all success. I would Dot win a 
wife at such a price.” 

Supper was ended. The Staatsrathin rose from table, 
and the company adjourned to the adjoining room, where 
punch was served. 

Johannes silently conducted Ernestine thither. His 
duties as host then compelled him to leave her. She stood 
alone in the middle of the room, looking around for some 
one to whom she might turn. No one came near her. 
The ladies whispered together, casting occasional glances 
in her direction, and the gentlemen stood about in groups, 
either turning their backs upon Ernestine or eyeing her 
through their glasses. She stood alone, as upon the 
stage before an audience. She did not know what to 
do. It seemed cowardly and undignified to flee for 
refuge to a corner, and yet this cross-fire of keen eyes 
was as hard to endure as it had been years before at the 
Staatsrathin’s. What did her intellect or learning avail 
her now ? She was as much shunned, despised, and 
misunderstood among people of refinement and culture 
as by the peasants. What fatality was it that thus at- 
tended her ? Who would solve the riddle for her ? 

An unexpected end was put to her torment. Elsa 
glided up to her upon Mollner’s arm. 

“ Fraulein Herbert wishes to be presented to you,” he 
said. 

Ernestine gazed in amazement at the strange flower- 
crowned elderly child, and took with some hesitation the 
damp, withered little hand held out to her. 

“ I begged my — our friend — ” she looked round, but 
Mollner had again joined the other guests — “ to make us 
acquainted with each other, because I feel myself so 
strangely drawn towards you. Your observations upon 
the brain impressed me greatly, — for I too am wild 
about natural science, and am myself half scientific. I 
dote on phrenology. I am a disciple of Schewe’s, whose 
striking diagnosis of my characteristics converted me to 
Gall’s theory. Heavens! what a delight it would be to 
discuss this subject with you, who have studied the 
brain so thoroughly! I am sure we should understand 
one another. You must let me examine your bead — so 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


313 


remarkable a head for a woman. What a treat it will be 
for me I Come, — pray sit down.” 

Ernestine made an impatient gesture of refusal. 

“ What I you do not wish it? Oh, don’t be afraid that 
I shall prove an enfant terrible and tell what I discover. 
I never tell tales.” 

“ I am not afraid of that,” replied Ernestine bluntly. 

If you could discover my character from the shape of 
my skull, there would be no need of your silence. I 
have nothing to conceal. But I take no interest in such 
nonsense.” 

“Nonsense do you call it ?” cried Elsa, clasping her 
withered hands. “ Then you do not believe in Gall’s 
doctrine ?” 

“ What do you mean by believe ?” said Ernestine. “ I 
do not believe in anything that has not been proved, 
and when anything has been proved I do not believe it, 
— 1 know it. Gall’s theory is like Lavater’s physiognomy, 
an hypothesis based upon coincidences, fit only to amuse 
idlers, but not worthy the attention of an earnest labourer 
in the cause of science.” 

“ Oh, you cut me to the heart,” sighed Elsa, who saw 
the scientific nimbus with which she had crowned her 
brows thus falling off* like a theatrical halo of gold-paper. 
She was greatly offended. She had meant so well, — for 
Mollner’s sake she had conquered herself and attempted 
to make a friend of Ernestine. He should see how her 
wounded but self-renouncing heart would open to her 
rival. She had been so glad not to come quite empty- 
handed to this learned woman ; for, as far as she had 
understood the anatomical conversation at table, it coin- 
cided wonderfully with Gall’s theory, which she had 
lately mastered that she might have the pleasure of sub- 
jecting Mollner’s head to an examination. And now, 
just as she had hoped to recommend herself to him whom 
she loved by her one little bit of scientific acquirement, 
even this unselfish pleasure was denied her, and the at- 
tempt had failed entirely. Oh, Ernestine was a hard — a 
terrible woman 1 

While Elsa had been talking to Ernestine, the gentle- 
men had cast significant glances towards them, and said 

27 


314 


ONLY 4 GIRL; 


among themselves, “There is a wonderful combination, 
— the Hartwich and Fraulein Elsa I It must be worth 
studying.^’ 

And so they gradually drew near the two women. At 
last, Moritz, who, like a child with its doll, always had 
his wife hanging on his arm, could not refrain from join- 
ing in the conversation, for he pursued a jest like a boy 
after a butterfly. “ Tell me, then, Frauleiu Elsa, what 
did.Schevve say to your head he asked. 

“What?” and Elsa smiled diffidently. What an at- 
traction she possessed for the other sex! Here were all 
the gentlemen gathered around her again. “ What? oh, 
modesty forbids me to tell you.” 

“ Then he was very complimental ?” 

“ lie was indeed.” 

“ That was the reason, then, you found his diagnosis so 
striking,” laughed Moritz. 

Elsa became embarrassed. 

“ That is just what makes that man so successful,” 
said Moritz. “ He flatters every one, and therefore every 
one believes him.” 

“ Oh, you do him great injustice 1” Elsa remonstrated. 
“ He is so in earnest about his science. He can be quite 
rude. He would certainly be rude to you. Professor 
Kern.” 

The gentlemen all laughed. “Frauleiu Elsa is severe.” 

“Dove-feather’d raven! wolfish-ravening lamb!** 

quoted the youthful tutor. 

“ Oh, I admire the man so much,” said the offended 
lady, “he is an adept in the sense of touch, — really he 
not only feels, he thinks and sees, with the tips of his 
fingers. After he had examined my head, and was stand- 
ing aside with closed eyes, as if to recapitulate mentally 
what he had discovered, it seemed to me that he was 
actually holding my soul in his closed hand, like a bird 
just taken from the nest.” 

“ It is to be hoped he did not keep it.” 

“ Oh, no ! he gave it back to me ; he presented me with 
it anew in teaching me to understand it.” 

“ Well, if he has initiated you into the mystery of his 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


315 


art, Fraulein Elsa, oblige us with some of it now. There 
ought to be all sorts of fledgelings to la-^e out of these 
nests, and we really would like to have a glimpse of our 
souls.” 

“ I asked Fraulein von Hartwich just now to let me 
examine her head, but she would not allow it.” 

“ But we are all ready for it,” cried Moritz, bowing his 
head, as did several of the other gentlemen. 

Pray don’t,” Angelika entreated her husband. 

“ Dear Angelika,” said Elsa, determined to be interest- 
ing to-day at all risks, “ I am not at all afraid of the trial, 
for I am confident of success. But it must be seriously 
undertaken. The gentlemen must be disguised so that I 
cannot recognize them.” 

“ Yes, yes, that’s right I It will be delightful !’^ cried 
the gentlemen, to whose gaiety the punch perhaps had 
lent some assistance. . 

“ Fraulein Elsa must leave the room while we disguise 
ourselves.” 

“ I will wait for a while in the garden, where it is far 
more charming to see the elves sipping the dew than you, 
gentlemen, drinking your punch. Call me when you are 
ready, and I wdll come, and, like a bee among the flower- 
cups, dip into your heads and find out whether they con- 
tain honey or gall.” 

With this arch threat she was hurrying away, when 
Ernestine took her hand compassionately and whispered 
in her ear, “ Do not do it, you will only be laughed at.” 

Greatly offended, Elsa withdrew her hand. “ By you, 
perhaps, but only by you. My friends here understand me 
and love mel” The tears rushed to her little ej^es, and 
she hastened out, without hearing Herbert call after her, 
“ You will disgrace yourself.” 

She hurried down into the garden, to confide her griefs 
to the elves and fairies. She would endure smilingly, no 
one should know what she had dared to dream, — to hope. 
But could her faithful heart at once resign all hope ? Pa- 
tient waiting had before now been crowned with success. 
She went to the spot where Angelika had left the flowers 
that she had given her for Johannes. The glass was 
overturned, the water spilled; and the flowers were scat- 


316 


ONLY A GIRL; 


tered about withered. How sorry she was ! It was a bad 
omen. She picked up her favourites and pressed th to 
her heart. Thus will it perhaps be one day with me. 
I shall fade away,” she thought, “ forgotten and neglected 
like you, and the only proof of affection that can then be 
mine will be that some tender soul may lay upon my cof- 
fin a wreath of you, sweet flowers of the field I” 

She seated herself upon the grass and sung softly, while 
her tears dropped upon the flowers. 

Ah, tears will not bring back your beauty like rain, 

Or love that is dead, to bloom over again.” 

“ Fraulein Elsa, are you weeping ?” 

She started and sprang up, Mdllner was approaching 
her across the lawn. 

“ Oh, no, these are not tears, only the dews of evening,” 
she lisped, drying her eyes. 

Mollner looked at her with pity. “ Poor creature,” he 
thought, “ it is not your fault that nature has proved such 
a step-mother to you, and that your brother’s distorted 
views of education have made you ridiculous, and even 
deprived you of the sympathy that you deserve.” 

He offered her his arm. “ Come, my dear Fraulein 
Elsa!” he said kindly, “lam sent to bring you in. 
Thanks to Fraulein von Hartwich, you are spared the 
mystification that was contemplated for you.” 

“ How so?” asked Elsa, who, upon Mollner’s arm, felt 
like a vine nailed against the wall. 

“ Fraulein Ernestine was requested to exchange dresses 
with Frau Taun, whose hair is also black, and both were 
to wear masks, in order to deceive you. The younger 
portion of the company so insisted upon it that I could 
not prevent it. But Fraulein von Hartwich, convinced 
that you were not so secure in your art as to be impreg- 
nable to deceit, refused so obstinately to do what was 
asked of her that the assemblage fairly broke up in disap- 
pointment.” 

Elsa was silent from shame. She knew that she could 
not have come off victorious from such a trial. She had 
depended upon easily distinguishing individuals by their 
hair, and it had not occurred to her that Frau Taun’s 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR TEE SOUL. 


31T 


hair was of the same colour as Ernestine’s. And yet, glad 
as she was to be thus relieved, she was humiliated at 
having afforded her enemy an opportunity for such a dis- 
play of magnanimity in her behalf. 

“ You will make a trial of your skill some time when 
we are more alone, will you not?” asked Mollner in the 
tone one uses to comfort a child. 

“ Yes, if you desire it, and if you would allow me to 
subject your own magnificent head ” 

Her voice trembled with emotion as she preferred this 
bold request. 

“ Why not ?” interposed Mollner, “ if you think my 
hard head would prove a profitable subject.” 

“ Your hard head ! oh, how can you speak so ? I should 
tremble to touch that head, lest Minerva should spring 
from it to punish me for my temerity.” 

Johannes smiled compassionately. “ I cannot persuade 
you not to embarrass me with your exaggerated compli- 
ments. You know I am a blunt man, and cannot repay 
you in kind.” 

“ How should you repay me ? I only ask you to per- 
mit me to reverence you. What can the brook require 
from the mighty tree whose roots drink of its waters ? 
Let my admiration flow on at your feet, and let your 
vigorous nature draw thence as much as it needs. There 
will always be enough for you, — the brook is inexhaust- 
ible.” 

Johannes was most disagreeably affected by this out- 
burst. What could he reply, without either inspiring the 
unfortunate creature with false hopes or deeply offending 
her ? 

Her brother’s voice relieved his embarrassment. They 
reached the house. 

“ Here they come 1” Herbert cried to'the others, who 
seemed to be waiting for them and were just taking their 
departure. They ascended the stairs, and Elsa put on 
her hat and shawl. 

“ Where have you been so long?” Herbert asked in a 
tone intentionally loud. 

“ Heavens I we fairly flew through the garden I” cried 
Elsa. 


21 * 


318 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ Have you wings, then, Fraulein Elsa asked the 
young tutor. 

‘‘Yes,” she replied, with an enraptured glance at Jo- 
hannes. “ They have lately budded anew.” 

“Pray, then,” urged her indefatigable tormentor, “ soar 
aloft, that we may see you, — it would be a charming 
sight 1” And he lighted a cigar at the lamp in the hall. 

“Ail human beings are born with wings,” said Elsa 
with pathos, — “ only we forget how to use them.” 

“ Come, Elsa dear, there is no use in our arguing with 
these men,” Angelika said kindly. “ Take leave of my 
mother, and we will walk along together, as we are going 
in the same direction.” 

Elsa did as she was told. In the doorway, behind the 
Staatsrathin, stood Ernestine, utterly dejected. Elsa 
went up to her and whispered, “May you rest well, if 
indeed shy Morpheus dare approach your armed spirit.” 

Herbert dragged Elsa away, whispering fiercely, “ No 
pretty speeches to her I I will crush her I The ‘ little^ 
man will prove great enough to terrify her!” 

“ Good-night, sweet mother. Good-night, poor Ernes- 
tine I” said Angelika, and then had hardly time to kiss 
them both before her impatient husband fairly picked her 
up and carried her down-stairs. 

“ Good-night, Professor Mdllner,” whispered Elsa. 
“The brook ripples onward to the ocean of oblivion.” 

“Good-night, good-night,” resounded, in all variations 
of lone, from all sides, and Father Heim hummed in his 
strong bass voice an old student song, in which the other 
gentlemen gaily joined, for, with the exception of the 
disturbance caused by “ that crazy Hartwich,” the evening 
had been a pleasant one, and Mdllner’s Havanas were 
delicious on the way home. If only the Hartwich had 
not spoiled their fun with Fraulein Elsa, it would have 
been too good. Elsa was by far the better of the two. If 
she was a fool, they could at least laugh at her, which was 
impossible with the Hartwich, she was so deuced clever 
at repartee. Thus talking, laughing, and singing, the 
throng sought their several homes through the silent, 
starry night. 

The Staatsrathin had entered the room with Ernestina 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


319 


Johannes, having locked the street-door after his guests, 
came and took a chair by Ernestine’s side. “ Come, 
mother dear, sit down by us, and learn to know our guest 
a little before we separate for the night.” 

But the Staatsrathin took up her basket of keys. “ I 
am very sorry, but I must see to the arrangement of 
Fraulein von Hartwich’s bedroom. The servants are 
all very busy just now.” 

“ Mother, let Regina attend to all that, and do you 
stay with us,” Johannes entreated, with something of 
reproach in his tone. “ Other things can be left until 
to-morrow.” 

“ The silver at least must be attended to. And Frau- 
lein von Hartwich is in great need of repose.” 

“ I am so sorry to give you so much trouble,” said 
Ernestine, really grieved. 

“ Oh, I assure you it is a pleasure I” With these brief 
words the Staatsrathin left the room. 

Ernestine sat there pale and exhausted. Johannes 
took her hand. “Patience, patience, Ernestine. She 
will soon — you will soon learn to know each other.” 

Ernestine silently shook her head. Her brow was 
clouded. “ There is no home for me here 1” 

“ Not yet, but it will become one I” 

“No, never 1” 

Johannes compressed his lips. “Ernestine, you do 
not dream how you pain me I” 

“ Pain you, my friend? The only one who is kind to 
me I Oh, no, I will not, — I cannot I” And she leaned 
towards him with strong, aluiost childlike, emotion, and 
laid her hand upon his. 

“When I see you thus,” said Johannes, with a look 
of ardent love, “I ask myself whether you can be the 
same Ernestine who seeks to sacrifice the unfathomed 
treasure of her rich, overflowing heart to a phantom, — 
to a struggle that can never yield a thousandth part of 
the pleasure that she might create for herself and others. 
Oh God 1” and he pressed his lips to Ernestine’s hand, 
“every word that you said to-day stabbed me like a 
dagger. How was it possible for you to think and talk so, 
after that hour that we passed together ? Oh, lovely 


320 


ONLY A GIRL; 


white rose that you are, you incline yourself towards 
me, but, when I would pluck and wear you, your thorns 
wound my hand 

Ernestine laid her other hand upon his bowed head. 
“ Dear — unspeakably dear — friend, have patience with 
me. If you could only put yourself in my place I In 
early childhood, when others are borne in the arms of 
love and petted and caressed, I was abused, scorned, 
neglected, — because — I was — a girl. Every cry of my 
soul, every thought of my mind, every feeling of my 
young heart, asked, ‘ Why am I so bitterly punished for 
not being a boy And in every wound that I received 
were planted the seeds of revenge, — revenge for myself 
and for my sex, — and of burning ambition to rival those 
placed so far above me in the scale of creation. These 
feelings matured quickly in the glow of the indignation 
which I felt when I saw my sex oppressed and repulsed 
whenever it strove to rise above its misery. They grew 
with my growth, strengthened with my physical and 
mental strength, and they filled my whole being, just as 
my veins and nerves run through my body. How can I 
live if you tear them thence 

Johannes held her hand clasped in his, and listened 
attentively. 

“ It is,” continued Ernestine, “ as if my heart had frozen 
to ice just at the moment when the agonized cry, ‘ Why 
am I worth less than a boy V burst from me, and as if 
that question were congealed within it, — so that I can 
think and struggle only for the answer to that ‘why?’ 
Why are we subject to man ? Why do we depend solely 
upon his magnanimity, and succumb miserably when he 
withholds it ? The times when physical force ruled are 
past. Everything now depends upon whether the pro- 
gress of woman is to be retarded by world-old prejudices, 
or by positive mental inferiority on her part ; and I shall 
never rest until science satisfies me upon this point.” 

“And do you not believe, Ernestine, that there is a 
third power subjecting the more delicate sex to the 
stronger — a higher power than the right of the strongest — 
more effective than the power of the intellect, — the power 
of love?” 


OR A PHISIOIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


321 


Ernestine looked at him with calm surprise. “I do not 
believe love can accomplish what reason fails to prove.’^ 

“Is that really so?” Johannes was silent for a mo- 
ment, then walked to and fro with folded arms, and 
finally stopped before her. “You speak of a sentiment 
that you have no knowledge of. But of all my hopes 
that you have destroyed to-day in the bud, one there is 
that you cannot take from me. You will learn to know it 1” 

The Staatsrathin entered. “ Fraulein von Hartwich, 
your room is ready for you. Will you allow me to con- 
duct you thither ?” 

“ Mother,” cried Johannes, “ do not be so cold and 
formal to Ernestine. You cannot keep at such a dis- 
tance one so near to me.” 

“ I really cannot see wherein I have failed of my duty 
towards Eraulein von Hartwich, — we are as yet entire 
strangers to each other.” 

“ You are right, Frau Staatsrathin,” said Ernestine. 
“ I am not so presuming as to expect more from you 
than you would accord to the merest stranger. I am 
very sorry to be obliged to accept even so much from 
you. I will go to my room, that I may not any longer 
keep you from your rest ; but be assured I shall trespass 
upon your hospitality for a single night only.” 

She turned to Johannes, and, with a grateful look, 
ofiered him her hand. 

“ Good-night, kind sir.” 

“ God guard your first slumbers beneath this roof I” said 
Johannes fervently, and it seemed as if the wish took 
the airy shape of her lost guardian angel, and hovered 
before her up the stairs to the cosy little room whither 
the Staatsrathin conducted her, and then, placing itself 
by the side of her snowy couch, fanned her burning brow 
with cooling wings. 

“ Mother,” said Johannes gravely, when the Staats- 
rathin rejoined him, “to-day, for the first time in my life, 
you have been no mother to me I” 


322 


ONLY A GIRL; 


CHAPTER XL 

INHARMONIOUS CONTRASTS. 

The morniag sun streamed brightly through the white 
muslin curtains of Ernestine’s windows, yet she still 
slept in peaceful and childlike slumber. For the first 
time for many years, she was not cheated of her repose 
by haste to go to her work. The guardian angel, that 
Johannes had invoked to her side, forbade even her 
uncle’s ghost to knock at her door, and still kept faithful 
watch beside her bed. It seemed as if the whole house 
were aware of its sacred presence, for a quiet as of a 
church reigned among its inmates. They were all up, 
but, at the command of their head, every dqor was 
softly opened and shut, ^every footfall noiseless. Jo- 
hannes knew how much need Ernestine had of repose, 
and he would not have her disturbed. He even controlled 
the throbbing of his own heart, that longed to bid her 
good-morning. 

The sleeper drew calmly in with every breath the 
repose that surrounded her, — and what a blessing it was 
for the poor, wearied child! 

The Staatsrathin had superintended the arrangement 
of the breakfast-table, and was seated with her work at 
the window. But her hands were dropped idly in her 
lap, and her eyes, red with weeping, were fixed sadly 
upon the flame of the spirit-lamp that had been burning 
for an hour beneath the coftee-urn. 

“ Do you not think I had better have fresh coffee pre- 
pared ? this has been waiting so long,” she said to her 
son as he entered the room. 

“Just as you please, mother dear,” said Johannes. 
“ You know I understand nothing of such things.” 

The Staatsrathin rang for the servant. “ Regina, take 
this coffee away and bring back the urn. I will boil some 
more.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN’ FOR TEE SOUL. 


323 


The maid did as she was directed, with a sullen face. 
“ ’Tis a shame to waste such good coffee I” she muttered 
as she went out. 

“ It is very disagreeable, mother,” observed Johannes, 
“to have Regina criticising all our arrangements. I do 
not like to have servants of that sort about me. If you 
cannot break her of it, pray send her away.” 

“ She does her work well, and is thoroughly honest,” 
replied the Staatsrathin. 

“ That may be, but there certainly are servants to be 
had who would do their duty more respectfully and good- 
humouredly. I do not like to have my comfort destroyed 
by sullen faces around me. I like to have people who 
render their service cheerfully.” 

“ It is not very easy to find them.” 

“ They must be sought until they are found,” said Jo- 
hannes, cutting short the conversation by opening and 
beginning to read his newspaper. 

The Staatsrathin sighed, but said not a word. 

Regina re-entered with the urn, and asked crossly, “ Is 
the Friiulein not to be wakened yet ?” 

“ No !” was Johannes’s curt reply. 

“ Then the urn might as well be washed, if the coffee 
is not to be made until noon,” she grumbled again, and 
left the room, closing the door with something of a slam. 

“Now, mother, this really is too much. I cannot un- 
dertake the direction of the servant-maids, but I will not 
tolerate them when they are so insolent. Regina must 
conduct herself differently, or she goesl” 

“ You have suddenly grown very impatient with the 
girl,” said his mother bitterly. “ I hope you may always 
be as implicitly obeyed as you desire.” 

“ I understand what you mean, mother, but it does not 
touch me. I desire only what is right, — obedience from 
the servants whom I hire, love from a wife who is fny 
equal.” 

“ Love alone will not answer.” 

“Yes, true, faithful love will.” 

“ There must be submission and self-sacrifice.” 

“ True love embraces all these, — submission, self-sacri- 
fice, the entire self.” 


324 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ It is not every one who can love truly ; so be upon 
your guard that you are not intentionally or unintention- 
ally deceived.’’ 

“ Reassure yourself, mother, and spare me your mis- 
givings,” said Johannes with unusual sternness, again 
turning to his newspaper, while he listened to every 
rustle outside the door of the room. 

The Staatsrathin brought from a cupboard a delicate 
little coffee-mill and began to grind some fresh coffee. The 
clock struck half-past eight. 

“ It is easy to see that the young lady has not been 
used to a regular household,” the Staatsrathin could not 
forbear observing. 

“ I only see that she is worn out after the fatigue of 
yesterday.” 

“No one who is accustomed to early rising ever sleeps 
so late in the morning.” 

“ It is impossible to rise early when one works all 
night long.” 

“ It is a bad custom for the head of a household 1” 

“ Mother,” said Johannes, starting up, “ I should be 
downright unhappy if I did not know how kind-hearted 
you really are.” 

“Indeed?” The Staatsrathin shook up the coffee, but 
her hands trembled visibly. “ This girl changes every- 
thing. Since she came into the house, all things are 
wrong: to-day, I make you unhappy, — yesterday, I was 
no mother to you 1 And yet, my son, since the painful 
day when I gave you birth, I have never been more a 
mother to you than now in my anxiety for your true 
happiness!” She could say no more ; her emotion choked 
her utterance. 

“ Mother dearest,” cried Johannes, embracing her ten- 
derly, “ you must not shed a tear because of a hasty word 
of mine. Come forgive me, — I am really so happy to-day. 
My dear, good mother, scold your boy well, I beg.” 

The Staatsrathin smiled again, and stroked her darling’s 
shining curls. 

“ God bless you, my dear son. It is because I love you 
so that I cannot give you to any but the noblest and best 
of women. I tremble lest you, who are without an equal 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


325 


in my eyes, should throw yourself away upon a wife who 
is unworthy of you.” 

“ Trust me, mother, I understand and thank you, hut, 
if you want me to be happy, love me a little less and Er- 
nestine more I This is all I ask of you, — will you not 
do it ?” 

“ The first I cannot do, but I will try to do the last, 
because you desire it, my son I” 

“ That’s my own dear mother I” cried Johannes, kissing 
her still beautiful hands. “ And now you may go and 
waken our guest, for I must see her before I go to the 
University.” 

“ Here she is !” said the Staatsrathin, going forward to 
greet Ernestine. ‘‘ Good-morning, my dear. How did you 
sleep ?” And she kissed her brow. 

Ernestine looked at her, surprised and grateful. “ Oh, 
I slept as if rocked by angels, — I have not felt so rested 
and refreshed for a long time I” Then, holding out a bunch 
of lovely white roses to Johannes,' she asked, “Did you 
have these beautiful roses laid outside my door?” 

Johannes blushed slightly, and gazed enraptured at the 
beautiful creature. “ Yes, I put them there myself.” 

“I thank you 1” said Ernestine. “You are kinder 
to me than any one ever was before. I have many 
flowers in my garden, but none, I think, so lovely as 
these. They are the first flowers I ever had given to me. 
I know now how pleasant it is.” 

“ Did your uncle never give you a bouquet upon your 
birthday ?” asked the Staatsrathin. 

“ Oh, no I And I do not think it would have delighted 
me so from him I” said Ernestine, with artless ease. 

Johannes’s face beamed at these words. ’ “ When is 
your birthday, Ernestine ?” he asked, while the Staats- 
rathin led her to the breakfast-table. 

Ernestine set down the cup that she was just about 
putting to her lips, and looked at him in amazement. “ I 
do not know I” 

“ You do not know I” cried Johannes. . 

“ I will ask my uncle, — he told me once, but I have 
forgotten.” 

The Staatsrathin clasped her hands. “ Forgotten your 
28 


326 


ONLY A GIRL; 


own birthday? Is it possible? Was it never cele- 
brated ?’’ 

“ Celebrated ?” repeated Ernestine in surprise. “No, 
why should it have been celebrated?” 

“ What I do you know nothing of this affectionate 
custom ?” 

Ernestine shook her head almost mournfully. “ I know 
of no loving customs.” ^ 

The Staatsrathin looked at her with compassion. 
“ Then you hardly know how old you are ?” 

“Not exactly ; but my father died when I was twelve 
years old, — shortly before his death he reproached me 
for being so little and weak for twelve years old, — and 
since then ten summers have passed away.” 

“ Poor child I” said the Staatsrathin. “ I begin to un- 
derstand !” 

“ I thought you would, mother,” said Johannes from 
the other side of the table. 

“ Your uncle has deprived you of many of the pleasures 
of life,” continued the Staatsrathin. 

“ Such pleasures, perhaps. But I must not be ungrate- 
ful, — he has given me others no less fair and great I” 

“ And what were they ?” 

“ He has taught me to think and to study. There can 
be no greater or purer pleasures than these.” 

Again the Staatsrathin’s brow was overcast. 

Johannes saw it, and broke off the conversation. “Er- 
nestine, it is not good for you to drink your coffee black. 
It excites your nerves.” 

“ On the contrary, my uncle bids me always take it so, 
to stimulate me, — without it, I often could not begin my 
day’s work.” 

“ That accords entirely with your uncle’s system of 
education. First he utterly prostrates you by wakeful- 
ness and study at night, and then stimulates you by arti- 
ficial means. Why, you yourself can understand that 
such a life of alternate prostration and over-excitement 
must wear you out. I really do not know what to think 
of your uncle in this respect.” 

Ernestine looked down, evidently impressed by the 
truth of Johannes’s words. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


32 ^ 


“ But tell me, Johannes,” said the Staatsrathin, “why 
do you address Fraulein Ernestine by her first name, 
when she does not authorize you to do so by returning 
the familiarity ?” \ 

“ She asks me to do so.” 

“ Oh, yes, I begged your son to call me Ernestine, — it 
makes me feel like a child again, and as if I could begin 
my life anew I” 

“ But you should address him by his first name, and 
not have the intimacy all upon one side.” 

Ernestine blushed. “ I cannot do so now, — by-and- 
by, perhaps.” 

“ Leave it to time and Ernestine's own feelings, mo- 
ther dear. I shall not ask for it until it comes naturally. 
Some time when she wishes to give me a special pleasure 
she will do it. And now good-by, Ernestine. I must 
go. I lecture at nine, but as soon as I get through I 
will return.” 

Ernestine looked up at him with glistening eyes, and 
breathed, scarcely audibly, “Farewell, my friend.” 

Johannes pressed her hand, and then, turning to his 
mother, said, “ Dear mother, I leave Ernestine to you for 
an hour, and hope with all my heart that you will under- 
stand each other. But, at all events, remember what 
you promised me.” 

“ Most certainly I will, my son.” He went as far 
as the door, then lingered, and, calling his mother to him, 
whispered imploringly, “ Be kind to her, — all that you 
do for her you do for me.” 

And, with one more look of longing lovb at Ernestine, 
he was gone. It was very hard to go. It seemed to him 
that he must stay, — that Ernestine would escape him if 
he did not guard her well. He would have turned back 
again if his duty had not been so imperative. “ If I only 
find her here when I return !” he said to himself one mo- 
ment, and the next he blamed himself for his childish 
weakness. He loved her too well. The one hour of 
lecture seemed to him an eternity. He longed to see her 
again almost before he had crossed the threshold that 
separated him from her. 

How beautiful she was to-day after her refreshing sleep, 


S28 


ONLY A GIRL; 


—how maidenly I If, when he returned, she looked at 
him with those glistening eyes, he could not control 
himself, — he would throw himself at her feet and implore 
her to be his. The decisive word must be spoken, — he 
must have certainty. The state of doubt into which he 
was plunged by the strange contrast between Ernestine’s 
cold, stubbornly expressed opinions and her tender per- 
sonal behaviour towards himself was not to be borne any 
longer. Only one hour separated him from the goal for 
which he longed with every pulse of his strong, manly 
nature. Oh, were it only over I 

“ Do you like beans ?” the Staatsrathin asked Ernestine. 

“Why do you ask me ?” 

“Only because you are to have them at dinner to-day.’^ 

“Thank you, but I cannot dine with you.” 

“Why not?” 

“My uncle might return unexpectedly from his journey, 
and be angry if he did not find me at home.” 

“ Strange I How comes it that you, who contend so 
earnestly for freedom, are under such strict control? Is 
it not somewhat of a contradiction?” 

Ernestine started. 

The Staatsrathin continued: “You are battling for the 
independence of woman, you brand as slavery a wife’s 
obedience to her protector, and yet a man who, as I un- 
derstand the case, is far more dependent upon you than 
you are upon him, has such complete dominion over you 
that you do not dare to stay from home a day without 
his permission!” 

Ernestine was again startled and surprised. “You are 
right. But I have grown up under his control. It has 
become a habit with me, so that I am hardly conscious 
of it, and it has never yet been so opposed to my wishes 
as to induce me to shake it off.” 

“Now, let me ask you, my dear, whether you regard 
this dull, half-unconscious habit of submission as nobler 
and loftier than the loving, voluntary obedience that a 
wife yields to a husband?” 

Ernestine was silent for a moment, and then said with 
uer own generous frankness, “No, it is not. But I have 


329 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 

brought it upon myself, and cannot escape from it as long 
as my uncle possesses the legal right of my guardian.” 

“But this legal right does not in any way affect your 
personal freedom as long as you do not desire to do any* 
thing contrary to law.” 

“He always told me that the guardian was the master 
of the ward. And if this tyrannical regulation had not 
applied equally to the male and female sex, I should long 
ago have attacked it in my publications.” 

“ That would not have done much good, I fear,” said 
the Staatsrathin dryly. 

Ernestine shrugged her shoulders. “None of my 
writings effect much good. But they are not meant to 
be anything more than a few of the many drops of water 
that must one day wear away the stone that dams the 
course of the pure waters of reason.” 

“We will not discuss such abstract subjects,” said the 
Staatsrathin evasively. “I would rather persuade you 
to stay with us to-day.” 

“If I only thought that I should not be a burden to 
you 1” 

“You certainly will not be to me, and you will give 
my son a pleasure far greater than the -annoyance to 
which your absence may subject your guardian. But 
you are the best judge of what you ought to do.” 

Ernestine laid her hand upon the Staatsriithin’s. “I 
will stay I” 

“There, — that’s right 1 Johannes would never have 
forgiven me if I had failed to persuade you to stay.” She 
rang the bell. Hegina appeared, and carried away the 
coffee-tray. 

“You may bring me the beans, I will prepare them,” 
said the Staatsrathin. Regina brought in the beans in a 
dish, with a bowl for the stalks. 

“I’m sure you will excuse me,” said the Staatsrathin 
to Ernestine, and she seated herself by the window, 
knife in hand, ready to begin her task. 

Ernestine looked on in astonishment. “Do you do 
that yourself?” 

“Why not? The cook has a great deal to do to-day, 
and I am glad to assist her.” 

28* 


830 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ I would help you if I knew how,’’ said Ernestine. 

“Try it, — perhaps it will amuse you. It does not 
require much skill ” The old lady, quite delighted at 
Ernestine’s interest in domestic affairs, handed her another 
knife and a bean, saying, “Look! you first strip off the 
stem and those tough fibres, — so. The people in this 
part of the country are apt to pay no attention to the 
fibres, but if you do not strip them off they are very 
tough. And now cut the bean lengthwise. Stop ! — not 
so thick, — a little finer. Now, don’t put the stems back 
in the dish, but here in this bowl! See I everything in 
the world can be learned, and, if you should not be com- 
pelled to do it, it is at least well to know how.” 

A gentle sigh escaped her as she remembered that her 
own circumstances had once, before she had lost her 
property by her brother’s failure, been such as to make 
these homely offices entirely unnecessary. 

Ernestine contemplated with smiling surprise the 
Staatsrathin’s enthusiasm in encouraging her to under- 
take this new role. She asked herself seriously if it 
were possible that this was really an intellectual woman. 
But one glance at the broad, thoughtful brow and the 
clear, expressive eyes of the speaker convinced her of the 
truth. 

Lost in these reflections, Ernestine continued her novel 
taskwork, but the Staatsrathin suddenly discovered, to 
her horror, that she was throwing the stems in with the 
beans, and the beans into the bowl of stems and strings. 

“ My dear,” she cried, “ see what you are doing ! now I 
shall have to pick over the whole dishful !” 

Ernestine threw down the knife and leaned back in her 
chair. “ I never was made for such work ! Forgive me, 
but I cannot think it worth while to learn it. I shall 
never be so situated as to need such knowledge.” 

“ As you please,” said the Staatsrathin coldly. 

“ Are you displeased with me ? Is it possible that 
you are displeased with me because I cannot cut beans?” 
She seized the old lady’s busy hand. “ Frau Staats- 
rathin, make some allowance for me. You must not ask 
one to do what she is not fit for. Would you ask the fish 
to fly, or the bird to swim ? Of course not. Do not. 


OR A PHTSICIAN FOR THE SOUL 


831 


then, expect a person who is at home only in a different 
world to take an interest in the every-day concerns of 
this.” 

This strife about the beans you make, 

When really crowns are now at stake, 

we might say,” remarked the Staatsrathin. “ And cer- 
tainly in our case these matters are not so widely differ- 
ent. What is most important cannot be entirely divided 
here from what is unimportant. Such little household 
occupations, slight, even insignificant, as they may ap- 
pear, belong to the responsibilities of a woman’s position. 
They are stitches in the web of her life. If a single one 
is dropped, the whole is gradually frayed 1” 

Ernestine shrugged her shoulders. “ You are perfectly 
right from your point of view, Frau Staatsrathin, but 
your point of view is not mine. To me a woman’s mis- 
sion is something higher. A noble mind cannot conde- 
scend to occupy itself with such cares, which are — forgive 
me the expression — always more or less sordid.” 

The Staatsrathin frowned slightly, but she did not in- 
terrupt Ernestine, who continued: “It is hard enough 
that so much of the brute cleaves to us that we must eat 
and drink to keep our physical mechanism in order; thus, 
in the process of development, we never attain any 
higher degree of perfection. We ought to take pride in 
developing ourselves as fully as possible, in contending 
against every animal appetite instead of making a formal 
study how best to pamper it. We ought to blush for our 
frail, indigent physical nature, instead of making an idol 
of it and regarding her who sacrifices to it most freely 
as the loftiest illustration of feminine virtue.” 

“ That all sounds very fine,” said the Staatsrathin, “but 
it is, nevertheless, a deplorable mistake. With the ca- 
pacity for pleasure the Creator has bestowed upon us the 
right to enjoy. We ought only to see to it that our 
pleasures are true and noble. It is false shame that 
would repudiate what we cannot live without, and it 
sounds strangely contradictory from the lips of a natural 
philosopher like yourself. Before whom would you blush ? 
Before your fellow-beings ? Certainly not, for they all 
share your mortal infirmities. And, since you do not. 


332 


ONLY A GIRL; 


believe in a God, where does there exist for you any 
supernatural ideal, any bodiless spirit, subject to no change 
nor desire of change, before whom you can be ashamed 
of being a mortal V'' 

“ In myself, — in ray own imagination.” 

“ Yes, yes, this is the usual jargon. Because you deny 
your God, and still feel the need of Him, you exalt your- 
self' into a divinity, and are humiliated at the idea of 
your imprisonment within a mortal frame I” 

“ Oh, no, I am not so vain and arrogant. There is, if I 
may thus express it, a refinement of mind that is shocked 
by the coarse demands of material nature. And I should 
be afraid of degrading myself in my own eyes if, in satis- 
fying these demands, I used the time and ability that 
might be employed for higher purposes.” 

“ You speak as if by the responsibilities of a woman 
I meant devotion solely to creature comforts. I under- 
stand by these something more than eating and drink- 
ing. Order and cleanliness, for example, are among 
the necessities of our life, especially for fine natures, for 
they belong to the domain of the beautiful, and must be 
the special concern of the female head of a household, 
whatever may be the number of her servants. To be 
sure, there are women who are so busy with brooms and 
dusters that we might almost think them neat from their 
love of dirt. But I am not speaking of such extreme 
cases. The superintendence of servants, if you have 
them, the distribution of labour, the purchase of clothing, 
with its hundred various branches, and, finally, the direc- 
tion and care of children, are all necessities of existence, 
duties to which no woman, even the wealthiest, can refuse 
to attend. Least of all should they be left to the husband. 
I consider it one of our most sacred duties to relieve him 
from all material cares, that he may be free to work for 
the benefit of mankind. Thus we assist him, modestly 
though it be, in the great work, by enabling him to keep 
himself free and fit for his labours.” 

“ 1 frankly acknowledge that I am incapable of such 
modesty. I cannot be satisfied with an excellence that I 
must share with every housekeeper. I am conscious of 
the ability to assist directly in the cause of human progress. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 333 

Why should I waste it in labour wholly possible to medi- 
ocrity ?” 

“ You depreciate this labour because you do not know 
it. Rightly conceived and executed, it may prove of the 
greatest significance. For the more, cultivated and intel- 
lectual a woman is, the more capable is she of appreci- 
ating the importance of the task assigned to man, and the 
necessity of lightening it as much as she can by due care 
of his physical and mental welfare. And with this thought 
ever in her mind, the meanest employment, the most 
menial occupation, becomes a labour of love. And even 
the most careful housewife can find time, if she is so 
disposed, to educate herself still further, and so to form 
and exercise her talents as to make them the delight of 
her husband’s hours of leisure. That is what I under- 
stand, my dear, to be a wife in the truest sense.” She 
suddenly took Ernestine’s hand and drew her towards 
her. “ And thus, — why should I not speak frankly ? — thus 
I would have the woman to whom I am to be a mother.” 

Ernestine looked at her in amazement. “ Will you — 
are you to be a mother to me, then ?” 

The Staatsrathin hesitated for a moment, and then said, 
“ I should like to be. You are an orphan, and I pity 
you. If you would only be what a woman should be, — 
if you would only conform to our social and Christian 
views, I could give you all a mother’s love.” 

Ernestine withdrew her hand. “ I thank you for your 
kind intentions, but, if these are the only conditions upon 
which you can bestow your alfection upon me, I fear I 
shall never deserve it.” 

The Staatsrathin shook her head in rising displeasure. 
“You do not understand me.” 

“ I understand you far better than I am understood by 
you.” 

“You probably think my homely wisdom very easy 
of comprehension — while yours is too deep for my powers 
of mind.” The Staatsrathin laid down her knife, and 
pushed away the dish of beans. “But the time may 
come when you will think of what I have been saying, 
and will be sorry that you have repulsed me.” 

“Frau Staatsrathin, 1 have not repulsed you. I am 


834 


ONLY A GIRL; 


only too honest to accept a regard bestowed upon me 
on conditions that I cannot fulfil. To gain your ap- 
proval I should be obliged to equivocate, — and I have 
always been true. It is robbery to accept an affection 
springing from a fajse idea of one’s character. What 
would it profit me to throw myself on your breast and 
silently return your tenderness, when I know that you 
would love me not for what I am, but for what I might 
pretend to be ? Sooner or later you would discover your 
error, and despise me for deceiving you. No, I am not 
unworthy of the love of good people just as I am, but if 
I cannot win it by frankness and conscientiousness, I 
will never try to steal it.’' 

“You speak proudly. Such self-assertion does not 
become a young girl towards an old woman, least of all 
towards the mother of her best friend and benefactor.” 

“Frau Staatsrathin,” cried Ernestine, “I shall always 
be grateful to your son for his kindness to me, but surely 
I ought not to testify my gratitude by hypocrisy and 
slavish servility.” 

“ My dear,” said the Staatsrathin, controlling herself, 
“you agitate yourself causelessly. I am a simple, prac- 
tical woman, who does not speak your language, and can- 
not follow you in your flights. I have no desire to drag 
you down to us. I simply wish to show you the world 
in its actual shape, that you may know what awaits you 
when you come to make your home in it; and I would 
gladly receive you in my motherly arms, lest you should 
receive too severe a shock from your first contact with 
reality.” 

“ Oh, Frau Staatsrathin, if the world is what you 
describe it to me, I would rather remain above it, in a 
colder but purer sphere.” 

“ I should have thought the sphere in which you were 
not safe from the assaults of angry peasants hardly a 
desirable one. I, at least, should prefer the modest dis- 
charge of domestic duties in the circle of home. But 
tastes differ.” 

Ernestine shrank from these words. “ Truth is born 
in heaven, but stoned upon the earth. Those who wish 
to bring it into the world must have the courage of mar- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


335 


t 3 rr 8 . These are such old commonplaces that cne can 
hardly give utterance to them without their seeming trite. 
Those who recognize truth must speak it, and the happi- 
ness of possessing it outweighs with me the misery that 
I may incur in speaking it.” 

“Forgive me, but these are phrases that utterly fail 
to cast any halo around such a disgraceful occurrence as 
that of yesterday.” 

“ Frau Staatsrathin 1” cried Ernestine, flushing up. 

“ Be calm, my dear child, I am speaking like a mother 
to you. What can you gain by casting discredit by your 
conduct, beforehand, upon the truths that you wish to 
assert? Who will place any confidence in the under- 
standing and learning of a woman who does not under- 
stand how to guard herself from ridicule? Pray listen to 
me calmly, for I speak as he would who would give his 
life for you every hour of the day. I would empty my 
heart to you, that no shadow may exist between us. 
The world is thus pitiless towards everything in the 
conduct of a woman that provokes remark, because our 
ideas of propriety have assigned her a modest retire- 
ment in the home circle, and it sees, in the bold attempt 
to emancipate herself from such universally received 
ideas, a want of womanly modesty and sense of honour, 
which, it thinks, cannot be too severely punished. Pub- 
licity is a thorny path. At every step aside from her 
vocation, although never so carefully taken, a woman 
meets with briers and nettles that wound her unpro- 
tected feet but are carelessly trodden down by a man. 
And even although she succeeds in weaving for herself 
a crown in this unlovely domain, it is, as one of our 
poets justly says, ‘a crown of thorns.’” 

Ernestine was looking fixedly upon the ground. The 
Staatsrathin could not guess her thoughts. Suddenly 
she raised her head proudly. “ And if it be a crown of 
thorns, I will press it upon my brow. ^ It is dearer to me 
than the fleeting roses of commonplace happiness, or the 
pinched head-gear of a German housewife I” 

The Staatsrathin looked up to heaven, as though pray- 
ing for patience. Then she replied with an evident effort 
at self-control, “ I grant you that the lot of woman 


336 


ONLY A GIRL ; 


might be, and should be, better than it is. But we can- 
not improve it by struggling against it, but by enduring 
it with the dignity which will win us esteem, while our 
struggles can only expose us to the ridicule that always 
attends unsuccessful effort.” 

“ Frau Staatsrathin, I hope to turn ridicule into fear.” 

“ And if you should succeed, what will it avail you ? 
Which is the happier, to have people shun you in fear, 
or to be surrounded by a loving circle for whom you 
have suffered ?” 

“ I do not live for myself, — I live for the cause of mil- 
lions of women for whom it is my mission to struggle 
and contend. Even if I could be ever so happy, I should 
despise myself were I able in my own good fortune to 
forget the misery of others. But I confess frankly that I 
could not be happy with such a lot as you prescribe for 
woman. Whoever has once floated upon the ocean of 
thought that embraces the world, would die of homesick- 
ness if confined within the narrow limits of the domestic 
circle.” 

The Staatsrathin dropped her hands in her lap, — her 
patience was exhausted. “ It is of no use, — you cannot 
comprehend the words of reason I” 

“ Do you call that reason ? I assure you, my ideas of 
reason are very different.” 

“Of course, of course. You are thinking of the defi- 
nitions of Kant and Hegel. You are talking of what 
is called ‘ pure reason,’ that repudiates everything hith- 
erto dear and sacred in men’s eyes, and would have 
created a far better world if God Almighty had not so 
bungled the work beforehand. But scatter abroad your 
doctrines far and wide, — they cannot do much harm, for 
they only serve to show upon how flimsy an argument 
the enemies of God base their denial of Him. But such 
a person can never be cordially received into a family 
circle. She can never inspire confidence, and that grieves 
me for my Johannes’s sake !” 

Ernestine was silent for awhile, and then looked sadly 
at the Staatsrathin. “I have not asked you to receive 
me into your family, Frau Staatsrathin. I know that 
my opinions make me an object of dislike wherever I 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


331 


go. Any one who sees through the defects and abuses 
of society will never be a welcome guest, but will 
be shunned as an embodied reproach. Strong-minded 
women, as they are called, think me narrow-minded, — the 
narrow-minded call me strong-minded. I belong to no 
party, I am opposed to all. It is a terrible fate, and 
nothing can help me to endure it, save a good con- 
science.” 

“ Or excessive self-conceit,” the Staatsrathin interposed 
half aloud. 

Ernestine blushed deeply. Scarcely restraining her 
anger, she replied, “ Frau Staatsrathin, people, accus- 
tomed all their lives long to the modesty of stupidity that 
characterizes the women of your circle, will find it very 
easy to stigmatize as self-conceit the courage of a woman 
daring to have an opinion of her own.” 

“ It is not necessarily stupidity that prevents one from 
trumpeting forth one’s opinions as indisputable truth.” 

“ Frau Staatsrathin,” said Ernestine, trembling from 
head to foot, “if you possessed for me one drop of the 
motherly kindness of which you spoke a little while ago, 
you would judge me less harshly. A mother makes allow- 
ance for her child. How could you wish to be my mother, 
when you are not disposed to make any allowance for 
me?” 

“ I really cannot tell how I fell into such an error, — and 
yet I was sincere, perfectly sincere. God knows I meant 
kindly by you. If you knew the part that you are playing 
in the eyes of the world, you would be more humble and 
grateful for the sacrifice, — yes, listen to the truth, you 
who pride yourself upon your frankness, — for the sacri- 
fice, I say, that a mother makes when she opens her 
house and heart to such a person for her son’s sake.” 

Ernestine sat pale and mute, her hands folded in her 
lap; she could not stir. The Staatsrathin continued, 
greatly irritated: “But I did it; 1 conquered myself, and 
tried to forget your skepticism, your un womanliness, 
your reputation. I hoped — hoped for my son’s sake — that 
you would change, and I would gladly have been a help 
to you. But you repulse my first approach iii a matiner 
that makes me tremble at the thought that my Johannes 

29 


338 


ONLr A GIRL; 


has given his loving heart to such a hardened nature, 
— that he should have by his fireside a woman who 
despises a wife’s duties, and who will be the ruin of 
himself and his home.” 

Ernestine sprang up. She gasped for breath, and 
her words broke forth from her with painful effort. 
“Frau Staatsriithin, I can assure you there has never 
been a word or hint at any nearer relation between your 
son and myself. I never would have crossed your 
threshold had I known how I was slandered. I promise 
you. you shall have no cause for alarm. I shall never 
dii^grace you by forcing you to receive me as your son’s 
wife. If he should ever offer me his hand, I should refuse 
it. As I do not pretend to believe in a God, I cannot offer 
to appeal to him, but I swear to you by my honour, 
which, is dearer to me than life ” 

“Stop, stop!” the Staatsriithin interrupted her in 
mortal terror. “Oh, my Johannes, what am I doing I 
Ernestine, do not make matters worse than they are. Do 
not drive them to extremities. I want you to reject, not 
my son, but your own faults and errors. Promise me to 
give up these, and you shall be the beloved daughter of 
my heart!” 

“ I cannot promise you that. I do not wish to do so. 
Do you think I would beg and fawn for the doubtful hap- 
piness of reigning at a fireside where every occasion would 
be improved to remind me of the sacrifice that was made 
in enduring me ? — where the only commendation that I 
could earn would be for the skilful management of sauce- 
pans and dish-cloths, and where a badly-cooked dinner 
would brand me as a useless member of society ? No, you 
know less of me than 1 thought, if you imagine that the 
chasm that you have opened between us can ever be 
bridged over. Spare me the humiliation of further expla- 
nations. 1 thank you for your hospitality. I leave you, 
as I did years ago, when 1 stood trembling and wet 
through before you, -and you had nothing for me but cold 
words of reproof, that made me feel myself a little cul- 
prit, although 1 was as unconscious of wrong as I am to- 
day. Then 1 would sooner have died than have returned 
to you, although your son, blessings upon himl would 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


339 


have treated me like a sister. Ten years afterwards he has 
brought me again to you and overcome my old childish 
timidity; but the first moment that I stepped across your 
threshold and encountered your cold greeting, I knew 
that there was no home for me here 1” She covered her 
face with her hands, and leaned exhausted against the 
door through which she was about to leave the room. 

The Staatsrathin, like all impulsive but really fine- 
tempered people, was easily appeased and touched. She 
hastened to her and threw her arms around her. “ My 
dear child I Can you not forgive the hasty words of an 
anxious mother? Indeed I was unjust. You are more 
sinned against than sinning. I thought only of my son, 
and ” 

“ There was no need to stab me to the heart for his 
sake. I never dreamed of becoming the wife of your 
son, — he is far too hostile to my views, much as I esteem 
him. 1 wished for nothing but the happiness of calling 
one human being in the world friend. But I can go with- 
out that too. I will prove it to you. Farewell I” 

And she hurried out, followed by the Staatsrathin, 
who could not prevent her from gathering together the 
few things she had brought with her and leaving the 
house. 

The mother looked after her with anxious forebod- 
ings. “What will Johannes say? How he will blame his 
mother!” she lamented, — but she soon collected herself, 
and said calmly and firmly, “In God’s name, then, I will 
bear it. It is better thus 1” 


PART III 


CHAPTER I. 

THE STRENGTH OF WEAKNESS. 

On the morning of the day that drove Ernestine from 
her peaceful but brief refuge, Herr Leonhardt slept un- 
usually late. His wife, who did not wish to waken him, 
looked anxiously at the old cuckoo clock, that pointed to 
half-past six. It was very natural that the old man should 
be tired, after the trying occurrences of the previous day. 
Frau Brigitta had never seen him so agitated. He had 
shed bitter tears upon his return home, — tears from those 
poor eyes 1 Every drop had fallen scalding hot upon his 
faithful wife’s heart. Those amongst whom he had lived 
for half a century as a steadfast, self-sacrificing friend and 
teacher, had taken up stones to stone him, — had forgotten 
all that they owed him, — it broke the heart of the we^ry 
old man. 

Frau Leonhardt sat upon the bench by the stove. She 
folded her kind, fat hands, and wondered how any one 
could grieve the man who was to her the very ideal 
of honour and worth I The door in the clock opened, 
and out hopped the cuckoo, flapped his wings, called 
“cuckoo” seven times, and then disappeared, slamming 
the door behind him as if he were greatly irritated at 
finding nothing astir as yet. Frau Leonhardt arose, — 
the old man must be called now, for the children came to 
school at eight. 

She ascended the ladder-like staircase to the upper story, 
which was under the roof of the cottage, and softly en- 
tered the bedroom. Herr Leonhardt lay with his face 
turned to the wall. 

“ Are you asleep ?” asked Frau Leonhardt. 

( 340 ) 


A PHYSICIAN FOR TEE SOUL. 3^ t 

What is it? what is the matter?” cried her husbapd 
alarmed. “ Is it really od hre ?” 

“ Why, you are dreaming, — it is time to get up, — the 
children will be here I” 

“But, my dear wife, it is still night. What are you 
doing up so early ?” 

“ Night and Frau Leonhardt smiled. “Why, how 
sleepy you are ! — it is broad daylight — seven o’clock.” 

“ Broad daylight I” cried the old man in a strange tone 
of voice. He sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes, then rubbed 
them again and stared at the bright sunbeams, but not an 
eyelash quivered. He was very pale. 

“ How are you, dear husband ?” asked his wife anxiously. 

“ Well, well, mother dear, only a little tired still,” he 
said in an uncertain voice. “ Go down now and get the 
coffee ready, I will come soon I” 

“ Can I not help you ? you are trembling so ; you must 
have fever!” cried Frau Brigitta. 

“ Oh, no, I am quite well, — go down now, I pray you.” 

She obeyed, hard as it was for her, and below-stairs 
she could not help weeping, she knew not why. She pre- 
pared the coffee, and listened with a beating heart for 
Bernhard’s step upon the stairs. Then, after twenty min- 
utes, that seemed to her an eternity, she heard him coming 
with a slow, uncertain tread. Some great misfortune 
seemed upon its way to her. How strange ! — he felt for the 
door before opening it. He must be very sick. She ran 
towards him, but his look reassured her. He was pale 
indeed, but his expression was as calm and gentle as 
ever. He laid his hand upon her arm. “ Well, dear wife, 
now let us breakfast. I have kept you waiting for me I” 

“ Oh, yes, I waited,” said Frau Brigitta, leading him 
to the table. “ Have you any appetite ? Do you feel 
any better ?” 

“ Oh, yes, but pour out the coffee for me, my dear. I 
am still somewhat fatigued.” 

“ That 1 will.” And the old woman poured the coffee 
into his cup. “Here is the milk.” And she placed the 
pitcher near his hand. 

Herr Leonhardt took it carefully, and touched the edge 
of his cup with his hand, that he might not pour in too 


842 


ON.: Y A GIRL; 


much ; but, in spite of his care, he spilt the hot milk 
upon his fingers. He said nothing, but secretly wiped 
it oflf and slowly put his cup to his lips. His wife 
laid a piece of bread upon his plate, and this also he ate 
slowly. 

“ Is it not good ?” asked Brigitta. 

‘‘Certainly it is,'’ he replied, “but pray eat your own 
breakfast.” And he listened to be sure that she did so. 
Then, when he had drank his coffee, he felt for the table 
before he put down bis cup. 

His wife looked at him with anxiety. “Bernhard, I 
think your eyes are worse again to-day.” 

“ I think they are,” he replied quietly. “ Have you 
breakfasted ?” 

“Yes, I have finished.” 

“Well, come then and sit here beside me. I want to 
tell you something. Give me your hand, my dear wife, and 
listen quietly to what I have to say.” 

Frau Brigitta looked at him wonderingly, and her heart 
beat so quickly — she knew not why — that it almost took 
away her breath. 

Herr Leonhardt stroked her hand, and spoke with the 
tenderness with which one speaks to a child. “ During 
all these eighteen years that I have been such a care to 
you, and in all the thirty years of our marriage, you have 
never caused me an hour of suffering, and 1 have done 
what I could to aid and support you. You have borne 
bravely all our common misfortunes, followed our first 
children to the grave with me, and comforted me when 
I was overcome by despair. Do not let your courage 
fail you now, for I must give you pain, I cannot help it. 
Try, as you always have done, to spare me the pang of 
seeing you sink under it. Promise me this 1” 

“For Heaven’s sake, my husband, speak! I will 
promise you everything I” 

“ What we have so long feared, dear wife, has at last 
come upon usl” He drew her nearer to him. “This 
morning when I awoke there was no daylight for me I” 

A dull, half-suppressed moan was heard at these words ; 
then silence ensued. The old woman’s hands slipped 
from her husband’s, — he put his own out towards her, but 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR TEE SOUL. 


343 


she was not at his side. She had sunk down from her 
seat and buried her face in her arms, that he might not 
hear her sob. 

“Mother, where are you?” he asked after a little 
• while. 

She embraced his knees and hid her streaming eyes 
in his lap. “Oh, my poor, kind husband, — blind! Oh 
God I Those dear, dear eyes!” And then her grief 
would not be controlled, and she lay at his feet, sobbing 
loudly. 

Herr Leonhardt gently raised her until her head rested 
upon his shoulder, and then waited until the first out- 
break should be past. He too had had moments this 
morning that none but his God might witness. He could 
not ask his wife to do what had been impossible for him- 
self. At last be said softly and tenderly, “Brigitta, you 
have been everything to me that a wife can be to her 
husband. I have alwaj-s thought there was nothing left 
for you to do, and yet in your old age our loving Father 
has filled up the measure of your self-sacrifice and laid 
upon you a heavier burden than any you have yet had to 
bear. He has taken from me the power to support you, 
and calls upon you, a weary, aged pilgrim, to be your 
husband’s staff upon his path to the grave. It seems 
very hard, — but, dear Brigitta, when God calls, what 
should we answer?” 

“Lord, here am I!” said his wife, and the resignation 
and cheerful submission in her voice were truly wonderful. 
She embraced her aged husband, and her tears flowed 
more gently as she said, “ I will guide and support you, 
and never be weary»” 

“ Thanks, dear heart. And now be calm, for my sake! 
Think how much worse it would have been if you had 
found me this morning dead in my bed ! ” 

“ Oh, a thousand times worse !” 

“ Then do not let us rebel because God has taken from , 
me one of the five senses, with which He endows us that 
we may enjoy the glory of His universe, he has still 
left me four. If I can no longer see your dear face, I 
can still hear your gentle voice of comfort and feel you 
by my side; and although I cannot see the sun, I can 


844 


ONLY A GIRL; 


still warm myself in its beams, — I can inhale the fra- 
grance of the flowers that it calls into life, — enjoy the 
fruits that it ripens. I can hear the songs of the birds, 
and with them praise my Creator from the depths of my 
soul. How much he has left me ! We will not be like * 
thankless beggars, showing our gratitude for benefits by 
complaining that they are not great enough. I have seen 
the sunlight for sixty-eight years. Shall I complain be- 
cause, just before my entrance into eternal light, God 
darkens my eyes, as we do a child’s when we lead it up 
to a brilliant Christmas-tree? I will bear the bandage 
patiently, and try to prepare my soul for the glories 
awaiting it. Let us but remember all this, dear wife, and 
we shall not be sad any longer.” 

The old man ceased. His darkened eyes were radiant 
with light from within, the reflection of those heavenly 
beams of which in spirit he had a foresight. 

His wife had listened to him with folded hands, and 
her simple nature was elevated and refined by thus 
witnessing his lofty resignation. The peaceful silence 
that reigned in the room was too sacred to be broken by 
any sounds of earthly sorrow. Her eyes were tearless 
as she gazed upon the noble face of the man who was all 
in all to her, and she waited humbly for further words 
from him. At last the only words escaped her lips that 
she could utter in her present frame of mind. “And our 
son?” she asked softly. 

An expression of pain flitted across his features. 

“ That is the hardest to bear, — our poor son ! God give 
him strength, as He once gave me strength when I was 
forced to leave the University and become a schoolmaster. 

I told him a short time ago what the physicians said. I 
did not tell you, for I wanted to spare you as long as 
I could. He sent me a reply by return of mail, which 
you shall hear, now that 1 have nothing to conceal from 
you. You shall read it, and be glad that you have such 
a son.” 

“ My good boy I” 

“ He will give up his studies and take my place here, so 
that we need never come to want.” 

“But will that be allowed?” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


345 


**Yes, — I have already obtained permission from the 
proper authorities.’^ 

“Oh, how thoughtful you have been!” cried his wife 
with emotion. “ With all that burden to bear so silently, 
and now you console me instead of my comforting you I 
How did such a poor creature as I ever come to have 
such a husband ?” 

She pressed a kiss upon his withered hand. The foot- 
steps of the school-children were heard in the hall. Herr 
Leonhardt arose and went to the door. 

“Wait! let me lead you,” said Brigitta. 

“Oh, you need not,” he said smiling. “I have been 
preparing myself for blindness for a long time, and I 
have practised walking about with closed eyes, that 1 
might not be so helpless when the time came. And so 
now I can find my way very well.” He had reached the 
door, and went out. “ Good-morning, children !” he cried, 
and felt his way along the wall to the school-room, fol- 
lowed by his anxious wife. He stumbled a little upon 
the threshold. “Never mind,” he said to Brigitta, who 
would have supported him. “ I need more practice, but it 
will be better soon.” He found his desk, seated himself 
there, and waited until the children had all taken their 
places. 

“Are you all here?” 

“ Yes,” was the reply. 

“ Well, then, sit down, — we cannot have any school to- 
day. My dear children, I must take leave of you. I can- 
not teach you any more. God has taken from me my 
eyesight. I cannot see you nor your lessons, and there- 
fore I can no longer be your schoolmaster. Your parents 
will consider my blindness a punishment from God for 
my conduct, but I tell you, if the trials God sends 
us are rightly borne they are not punishments, but 
benefits. Remember this all your lives long. There will 
come dark hours in every one of your lives, if you live 
to grow up, when you will understand what your old 
master meant. And now come and give me your hands, 
one after the other. So, — I thank you for your childlike 
tenderness and affection, and I forgive from the bottom 
of my heart Hose few who have ever given me any 


346 


ONLY A GIRL; 


trouble. My son will soon be here in my place ; promise 
me to obey him, and to make his duty easier for him by 
dilip:ence and obedience. Farewell, my dear children. 
God bless and prosper you !” 

He held out his hands, and the children, sobbing and 
crying, thronged around him to clasp and kiss them. 

“ Who is tins ?” the old man asked of each one, and 
then, as the names were told him, he shook the little hands. 

“ Do not cry, dear children, we are not bidding fare- 
well for life. You will often pass by the school-house on 
Sunday and shake hands with your old master as he sits 
on his bench before the door. And then I can guess by 
the voice who it is, and can feel how* much you have 
grown, and you can tell me what you have been learning 
during the week. And those who have studied the best 
shall have some nuts, or one of my loveliest flowers, or 
some other little gift. Won’t that be delightful ?” 

The children were consoled by this prospect, and hast- 
ened home to tell the important news to their parents. 

The old man stood alone with his wife in the deserted 
school-room. “ Come, dear wife, we will send a message 
to Walter.” He laid his hands once more upon his desk, 
and tears fell from his eyes. “ It is strange,” he said, 
“ how much it costs us to leave a spot where we have 
laboured so long, even although our work has been hard 
and ill rewarded. Our home is wherever we have been 
used to the consciousness of duties fulfilled, and when we 
must leave it, it is as if we were going among strangers I” 

He put his arm in Brigitta’s, and, with head bent, 
crossed the threshold which separated him from the hum- 
ble scene of the daily labour of his life. For the first 
time, he looked, to his wife’s anxious eyes, like a broken- 
down old man. 

“ I must leave you alone for an hour,” she said, when 
she had seated him in the dwelling-room on the bench by 
the stove. “I must prepare the dinner.” 

“ Do so, mother ; man must eat, whether he be merry 
or sorrowful, eh ? And we are not really sorrowful, are 
we?” And he forced a smile and patted her shoulder. 

“ No, dear Bernhard, we are not I” said his wife, strug- 
gling to repress a fresh burst of tears. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUij. 347 

“ Send a messenger to town to Walter as soon as pos- 
sible,” said Herr Leonhardt. 

“ Indeed I will. I cannot rest until my boy is with us. 
And I will send for the doctor, too !” 

“ Do not send for the doctor ; he can do nothing more 
for me.” 

“ But it will be a comfort to me to see him, — do let me 
send,” said Brigitta. And she left the room. 

The old man sat there, calm and still. “ And now I 
must begin my new daily task, — the laborious task of 
idleness 1” he thought, as he folded his hands and gazed 
into the night that had closed around him for this life. 

He sat thus for some time, when the cuckoo began to 
announce the hour of nine, but the last “ cuckoo” stuck 
in the bird’s throat, and he stood still at his open door. 
The clock had run down. For the first time in many 
years, Herr Leonhardt had neglected to wind it up. He 
arose, groped his way towards it, felt for the weights, and 
carefully drew them up. The cuckoo took breath again, 
finished his song, and slammed to his door. “ I will not 
forget you again, little comrade,” said he, “you, w'ho 
have chirped on through such merry and sorry times. 
How often now shall I long for you to tell me when the 
long, weary hours end I” 

Thus said the old man to himself, and again slipped 
back to his place. “ There is something done,” he said 
as he sat down. Then minute after minute passed by, 
his head sank upon his breast, the darkness made him 
sleepy, and for awhile even his thoughts faded and were 
at rest. 

His wife looked in upon him several times, but with- 
drew softly, that his sleep might not be disturbed. 

It was almost twelve o’clock. 

Then something rustled into the room ; the old man 
felt the air stirred by an approaching form, and he raised 
his head. The figure threw itself at his feet. He put 
out his hand and touched waves of silky hair. 

“ Father Leonhardt I” 

“ Oh, this is Fraulein Ernestine.” 

Ernestine looked at him, and observed with dismay 
that the pupils of his eyes did not contract with the light 


848 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ TTerr Leonbardt, what is the matter with your eyes 

He smiled. “ Their work is done.” 

“ Good heavens I already ? I thought they would last 
mouths at least.” 

“ What matters a few months more or less ?” said the 
old man quietly. 

Ernestine looked amazed. Involuntarily she clasped 
her hands. “ Is this possible ? I tremble from head 
to foot at the mere sight of such a calamity, and you 
— you upon whom it has fallen — are so perfectly calm 
and composed. Tell me, oh, tell me, what gives y^u such 
superhuman strength ?” 

The old man turned to her his darkened eyes. “ My 
faith, Friiulein Ernestine.” 

Ernestine’s gaze fell. “ It is well for you.” 

“ Yes, it is well for me,” repeated Herr Leonhardt. 

A long pause ensued. At last the old man asked 
kindly, “ How are you after that terrible yesterday ?” 

“ Oh, Father Leonhardt, do not ask me how I am I 
Until this moment I thought myself very miserable, but 
your calamity teaches me to despise my own pain. In 
comparison with that, what is all the imaginary unhap- 
piness that comes from being misunderstood? What 
matters it if people despise me for differing from them ? 
What can their esteem give me or their contempt deprive 
me of? They cannot bestow upon me or take from me 
one ray of sunlight, one glimmer of the stars. The golden 
day shines upon my path, and I am young and able to 
labour. I see the beauty of the world, the universe is 
painted upon my organs of sight, my soul is bathed in 
light, and how can I give room to mortified pride or 
offended vanity, when I see a great enlightened soul 
peacefully resigned to endless night? No, Father Leon- 
hardt, holy martyr that you are, I discard all my petty 
personal trials, and am grieved only for you.” She bowed 
her head upon his hands, and sobbed passionately. 

“ My daughter,” said the old man, much moved, “you 
are not telling me the truth. The pain that you have 
suffered must be great indeed, for only a heart that knows 
what suffering is can feel so for others’ woes. You' 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


349 


heart must have been filled before to overflovring with 
these tears that you are now shedding for me.’^ 

“ Oh, Father Leonhard t, blind though you are, you 
see clearly. I came to seek advice and comfort from 
your paternal heart, and you have comforted me even 
before I could tell you of my grief. Yes, there was 
a moment when I forgot myself, but it is past. Your 
noble' example has made me strong again. Let it go. 
I can think and talk now only of yourself. I pray you 
take me for your daughter. You have treated me with 
a father’s tenderness, — let me repay you as a child should. 
Yesterday you perilled that venerable head to save me 
from the angry mob, — now let me shield you from the 
menacing phantoms of night and loneliness. Come, live 
in my house with your wife. I will be with you as much 
as I can. I will talk to you and read to you. I am so 
lonely, and, — I cannot tell why, — I begin to thirst so 
for love.” 

Herr Leonhardt clasped his hands. “ Oh, what com- 
fort and delight Heaven still sends me! Yes, although 
my eyes are blind, I can see the hidden beauty of the 
heart that you reveal to me. God bless you, my dear 
daughter, and grant you the light of His countenance, 
that you may one day recognize Him as your best friend 
and benefactor!” He paused, and then added almost 
timidly, “ Forgive me, — I am falling into a tone that you 
do not accord with. Remember that in my youth I 
studied theology, — a little of the pulpit still sticks to me. 
Do not think that I arrogate the right or ability to in- 
struct you. I, old and broken down as I am, am not the 
one to train that proud spirit. I will accept the crumbs 
of love that fall for me from your large heart, and grate- 
fully pray for your happiness.” 

“ Father Leonhardt, do not undervalue yourself. You 
must know how far above me you are. When I saw you 
in your simple greatness confront those rude men yester- 
day, I was filled, for the first time since my childhood, 
with a sentiment of adoration. You understand me, you 
make allowance for me, while every one else misunder- 
stands and condemns me. You stood by me in the hour 
of danger, and yet you never boast of your kindness. 

30 


350 


O-NLY A GIRL; 


Oh, you are noble and true I Come to me, — let me find 
peace upon your paternal heart, let me give you a home 
and provide for your son’s future.” 

“ Thanks, thauks for all your offers, my dear child, 
but I cannot take advantage of your generosity, and, 
thank God, I do not stand in need of it. My son has 
already determined to give up the study of medicine and 
take my place here as schoolmaster. Thus, our future 
is provided for, we shall not have to leave the dear old 
school-house, and I can die where my whole life has been 
passed.” 

“Does that thought comfort you?” asked Ernestine, 
shaking her head. 

“ Oh, yes, it is all that I desire. Those who, like 
yourself, my child, pass through life with all sails set, 
have no idea of the restraint which those in our class 
must gradually learn to put upon themselves in order not 
to despair. Yet in this very restraint, in this perpetual 
narrow round of duties that life assigns us, there is hap- 
piness, a content that routine always brings. You may 
say that routine blunts the faculties, — but, for the most 
part, it only seems to do so. A nature strong from 
within will thrust its roots deep into the soil of its 
abiding-place with the same force that enables it to grasp 
the universe, and if you should attempt to tear it thence 
in its old age, you would almost tear its life away also. 
I love the little spot of ground and the little house that 
have been the world to me. I believe I should die if I 
had to leave them.” 

Ernestine listened thoughtfully. “ AVell, then, if I may 
not ofier you a support, I can at least offer your son the 
means of pursuing his studies. My library, my appara- 
tus, are at his disposal. I hope he will not refuse to make 
use of them in his leisure hours.” 

“ That indeed is a favor that I accept most gladly, 
although I can never hope to repay it I I thank you in 
my sou’s name. You will know the happiness of having 
restored to a human being what he most prizes, — his hopes 
for the future.” 

“ You amaze me more and more,” cried Ernestine with 
warmth, “ as you afford me an insight into the depth and 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


351 


cultivation of your mind. What self-mastery it must 
have cost you to live here among these savages I” 

• The old man smiled. “ Living among them, one grad- 
ually grows like them in some things, and is no longer 
shocked. At first, to be sure, I thought myself too good 
for them. But my faith soon taught me that no one is 
too good for the post God has assigned him. When I 
was a student I delighted in the theatres, and visited 
them frequently. Once, as I was leaving the manager’s 
room, I heard him lamenting the obstinacy of one of his 
corps. ‘ He utterly refuses to take a subordinate part. 
Good heavens I they cannot all play principal parts I’ 
The man never dreamed of the serious lesson he had 
taught me. ‘ All cannot play principal parts,’ I said to 
myself whenever the demon of arrogance assailed me, 
and I gave myself, heart and soul, to the subordinate 
role that had fallen to me on the stage of life. I soon 
desired no better lot than to hear some day my Master’s 
‘ Well done, good and faithful servant 1’ ” 

“All cannot play first parts, murmured Ernestine. 
“ I too. Father Leonhardt, will ponder these words.” 
She sat silent for awhile, then passed her hand across her 
brow. “No I to be nothing but a subordinate, a figure 
that appears only to vanish again, occupying attention 
for one moment, but just as well away, — no, that I 
could not endure I” She sprang up, and walked to and 
fro. 

“ My dear Fraulein ” 

“ Father, call me Ernestine, — it is so pleasant to hear 
one’s first name from those whom one values.” 

“ Certainly, if you desire it. Then, my dear Ernestine, 
I was going to answer you by saying that no one who 
fulfils the duties of life conscientiously is ‘ as well away.’ 
As far as the world is concerned, it may be so; but we 
must not seek to have the world for our public, or to find 
the sole delight of life in its applause. It is not modest 
to imagine one’s self an extraordinary person, destined 
to enchain the attention of nations upon the stage of the 
world.” 

Ernestine blushed deeply. 

Leonhardt continued: “Every one finds associates 


352 


uNLT A GIRL; 


amongst whom to play a principal part, and in whose 
applause satisfaction is to be found. For these few he is 
no subordinate, for them he does not ‘ appear only to 
vanish again.’ Is not a wife, or a husband, to whom 
one may be everything, worth living for 

“ Only for persons. Father Leonhardt, who have never 
so soared above their surroundings as to find the centre 
of their being in the life of the mind and what pertains 
to it. Those who have so far forgotten themselves as to 
make the interests of the world their own, can only live 
with and for the world, and it is as impossible for them 
to be content in a narrow round of private satisfactions 
as for the plant to retreat into the seed whence it 
sprung.” 

“ Indeed, Ernestine cried a familiar voice behind 
her. 

She turned, startled. Johannes had been listening 
on the threshold to the conversation. He was evi- 
dently in a state of feverish agitation. His chest heaved 
passionately as he approached. “Would you escape 
me thus — thus?” He took her hand, and his eyes 
sought hers, as if to dive into the depths of her soul in 
search of the pearl of love deeply hidden there. There 
was a fervent appeal in his glance, — he clasped her hand, 
and every breath was an entreaty, every throb of his 
heart a remonstrance. Pain, anxiety, and the haste of 
pursuit so shook him that he trembled. Ernestine 
saw, heard, felt it all, but she stood mute and motion- 
less, — she could not open her lips or utter a sound, — 
she was as if stunned. “ Ernestine 1” Johannes cried 
again, “ Ernestine I” The tone went to her very soul, — 
a low moan escaped her lips, — she inclined her head to- 
wards his breast, and would have fallen into his arms, — 
but a shadow, the shadow of his mother, stepped in be- 
tween them and darkened Ernestine’s eyes so that she no 
longer saw the noble figure before her, or the tears of 
tenderness in his eyes. All around her was cold and 
dim, as when clouds veil the sun, — his mother’s shadow 
scared her from his heart. 

She raised her head, and slowly withdrew her hand 
from his. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


353 


His arms dropped hopelessly. A moment of utter 
exhaustion followed his previous emotion. He put his 
handkerchief to his forehead, that seemed moist with 
blood. His veins throbbed, — there was a loud singing 
in his ears, — he could hardly stand. He exerted all his 
self-control, and went towards Leonhardt. 

“ God strengthen you, Herr Leonhardt!” he said in 
broken sentences. “ I know it all from your messenger 
to your son, whom I met on the road. I need not offer 
to console you, — you are a man, and will endure like a 
man.” 

“I am a Christian, my dear Herr Professor, and that 
stands to feeble age in the stead of manhood 1” 

“True, true!” said Johannes with a troubled glance at 
Ernestine. She approached, and said in a trembling 
voice, 

“ Father Leonhardt, I must say farewell to you now 
and go home. When your son comes, send him to me.” 
She offered Mdllner her hand. “ Forgive me, I could not 
help it !” 

Johannes mastered his emotion, and said, with appa- 
rent composure, “I shall write to you.” 

Ernestine silently assented, and went. The old man 
listened. He heard her retreating footsteps and Johannes^ 
labouring breath, and again he saw, for all his blind eyes. 

“ Oh, Herr Professor, do not let her go. Follow her 
quickly, and let all be explained. Believe me, she is an 
angel. Grudge her no words. There is no use in writ- 
ing, — her uncle can intercept all her letters. Spoken 
words are safest and best. Quick, quick, or you may 
both be wretched !” 

“Thanks, old friend, you are right!” cried Johannes, 
all aglow again ; and, before the words were well uttered, 
he was gone. 

Frau Brigitta entered with the soup, and looked after 
him in surprise. “The gentleman seems in a hurry!” 
said she. 

“Let him go, mother dear. These young people are 
struggling, amid a thousand fears and anxious hopes, for a 
goal that we old people have long gazed back upon coi>- 
tentedly. God guide them !” 

30 * 


S54 


OXLT A GIRL; 


Johannes called to his coachman to await his return 
before the school-house, and followed Ernestine, who was 
slowly pursuing the foot-path directly before him. All 
was quiet and lonely around, for it was noon, and the 
peasants were at dinner. 

She looked round upon hearing Johannes^ step- behind 
her, and stood still. He soon overtook her. 

“ Ernestine,” he said resolutely, “ I must have a final, 
decisive word with you, and Leonhardt is right, — it 
should go from heart to heart. Will you listen to me ?” 

He drew her arm through his, and as they talked 
they slowly approached the eminence upon which stood 
the castle. 

“ Ernestine, dear Ernestine, I would give all that I 
have that the scene between you and my mother, this 
morning, had never been You have been mortally 
offended, and that, too, while you were my guest in a 
house whither you had fled for refuge, and that should 
have been a home to you. But it happened in my 
absence, — it was not my fault. Will you make me suffer 
for it 

“No, my friend, certainly not.” 

“Well, then, be magnanimous and forgive my mother, 
although she never can forgive herself 1” 

“I have nothing to forgive.” 

“You are implacable in your righteous anger. Let 
me hope that the time may come when my mother may 
atone for what she said to you to-day. Dearest Ernes- 
tine, she startled back your young heart, just awakening 
to its truest instincts ; it was a poor preparation for 
what I wished to say to you to-day, and yet, — and yet I 
must speak, — I can be silent no longer. Yes, Ernestine, 
I wished to-day to ask you to be my wife. I wished to 
entreat of you the sacrifice that marriage demands of 
every woman, and of you more especially ; and I firmly 
believe that if you could have listened first to my views 
of the duties and the lot of a wife, they would not have 
seemed to you as terrible as from the lips of my practical 
mother. I hope to be able to shield you from the hard 
materialism of life that so alarms you, and to which my 
mother attaches too much importance. My white rose 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


355 


shall not be planted in a kitchen-garden. You shall be 
the pride and ornament of my life. 1 ask nothing from 
you but love for my heart, sympathy in my scientitic 
pursuits, and allowance for my faults.” He took her 
hand in his, and stood still. “ Ernestine, will you not 
give me these ?” 

With bated breath he waited for her reply. In vain 
his glance sought her eyes beneath their drooping lids. 

Ernestine stood motionless in marble-like repose, and 
no human being could divine what was passing in the 
depths of her soul. At last her pale lips breathed scarcely 
audibly : “ I cannot, — your mother, — I cannot ” 

“ Oh, if you cannot love me, do not make her bear the 
blame, do not overwhelm her with the curse of having 
robbed her son of the joy of his life, — that were too 
severe a punishment I And, if you do love me, conquer 
your pride nobly by showing her how she has mistaken 
you. Show her all the woman in you, and prove to her 
that you are capable of self-sacriGce, and revenge could 
not desire for her more profound humiliation.” 

“ I cannot make the sacrifice that she demands ; and 
if I could 1. would not, because she demands it and makes 
it a condition. A soul that is free will not barter away 
its convictions and its aims, even though the happiness 
of a lifetime is at stake. When your mother asks me to 
resign my plan of achieving an academic career, and to 
bury the immature fruits of all my labours, she is excus- 
able, for she does not dream what she asks ; but when 
you propose such conditions, you can, not only never be 
my husband, — you can no longer be my friend, for you 
do not understand me.” 

Good God, Ernestine I what do I ask of you more 
than what every man asks of the woman whom he wishes 
to marry, — that she shall live for him alone ? And how 
can you do this if you do not relinquish your ambition 
and be content with a private life? You need not relin- 
quish science, you shall be my confidante, my aid in all 
my labours, my friend, sharing all my plans and hopes. 
Only do not any longer seek publicity, do not try to 
obtain a degree or deliver lectures. No opprobrium or 
contempt must dare attach itself to the pure name of my 
wife.” 


356 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Ernestine started as if struck by an arrow. “ Those 
are your mother’s very words. What ? Do you, who 
assume such superiority to woman, condescend to repeat 
phrases taught you by your mother 

“ Bruestine, you are unjust. You have long known my 
views concerning the position of woman, and you cannot 
expect that I should be false to my most sacred convic- 
tions at what is the most important moment of my life.” 
“And yet you require this of me 
“ A woman’s convictions, Ernestine, are always de- 
pendent upon her feelings in such matters. And where 
feeling is concerned, the stronger must always conquer 
the weaker. Hitherto you have been moved ouly by the 
wrongs of your sex, — they are all that you have known 
anything of. When you love, you will learn to know its 
joys, and be all the more ready to resign your vain 
championship for your husband’s sake.” 

“ Do you think so ?” asked Ernestine with unaccustomed 
irony. 

“1 hope so. It is our only chance for happiness. I 
am true to you, and tell you beforehand what I look for 
from you. I will not influence your decision by flattery 
or false acquiescence. It must be formed in full view of 
the duties it imposes upon you, or it will be worthless. 
You may think this a rude fashion to be wooed in, and 
perhaps you are right. But I will not win my wife by 
those arts which woman’s vanity has made such power- 
ful aids to the lover. I will not owe my wife to a weak- 
ness, — and vanity certainly is a weakness. Your love 
for me mu.st be all strength. I would have you great 
indeed when you give yourself to me, — and when is a 
woman greater than when she conquers her pride and 
herself for love’s sake ? In her self-conquest she accom- 
plishes what heroes, who have subdued nations, have 
found too hard a task, for it requires the greatest human 
effort. It is true, the world will not shout applause, — 
deeds truly great often shun the eyes of the multitude: 
in the renunciation of all acknowledgment there is a joy 
known only to a few. Within quiet convent walls, past 
which the stream of human life flows heedlessly, many a 
victory over self has been attained that was never re- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


35t 


warded by a single earthly laurel. What awaits the end 
of the painful contest ? The grave ! But I ask of you, 
Ernestine, far less of sacrifice, and surely there is a re- 
ward to reap in bestowing perfect happiness upon one 
who loves you. Do you hesitate? Is the struggle not 
ended ? Can your royal soul not cast aside the self-im- 
posed chains of false ambition ? Oh, Ernestine, do not 
let me implore you further ; say only one word, — to whom 
will you belong, — to your uncle, or to me ?” 

“ To myself, for no human being can belong to any 
other!” And her look at Johannes was almost one of 
aversion. “Yes, now I see that you are your mother’s 
son. I see her stern features, 1 hear her voice of remon- 
strance, and I see myself between you, — a creature with- 
out will, — no longer capable of independent thought or 
feeling, still less of rendering any service to the world. 
Am I to cast aside like a garment what has been the 
guiding hope of my life, — my dream by night and day, — 
and go to your mother begging for forgiveness and in- 
dulgence, excusing myself like a child, and promising 
future improvement, that I may humbly receive from 
her cold lips the kiss of condescending pardon ? Again 
and again. No ! What right has your mother to regard 
me as a criminal, and to attempt to improve me ? Whom 
have I injured ? What law of propriety have I infringed, 
that she should treat me like some noxious thing in the 
world? I have lived in calm retirement, asking for no 
happiness but that of labour. Why should she insist 
upon thrusting another kind of happiness upon me, and 
blame me for not considering it as such ? Did I seek her 
out ? Was it not against my will, and only in accordance 
with your earnest entreaties, that I accompanied you to 
her house? Why should she drive me from it like an 
intruder, and impose upon me conditions of a return that 
I did not desire ? Oh, if you, noble and true as I once 
thought you, had loved me, not as you thought I ought 
to be, but as I am, with all my faults and eccentricities, 
I would have striven for your sake to become the most 
perfect woman in the world. And if you had said to me, 
‘Be my companion, — I will help you to riudicate the 
honour of your sex, whatever is sacred to you shall be 


358 


ONLY A GIRL; 


so to me also,’ — if you had thus acknowledged my indi- 
viduality, and had intrusted your happiness, your honour, 
to my keeping, without other warranty than the dictates 
of your own heart, I would have bowed in reverence to 
a love so powerful, — I would gladly have sacrificed m^ 
freedom to you, — to please you, I would have performed 
the hardest task of all — humiliated myself before your 
haughty mother! But when you come to me thus, — only 
her echo, — when you make it the foundation of our happi- 
ness that I should be what she chooses, and try to assure 
yourself at the outset that I will submit to all your re- 
quirements, that you may run no risk from such a self- 
willed creature, — all this shows me that she has separated 
us utterly. I have lost you, and all that you have given 
me is the knowledge that I have no place in this world, 
and that I am miserable!” 

Johannes stood pale and mute before her, but his pure 
conscience shone in his steady eyes. Ernestine did not 
venture to look at him. With trembling hands she 
plucked to pieces a twig that she had just broken from a 
bush at her side. 

“ After this we can be nothing more to each other,” he 
began ; and it seemed as if every word fell from his lips 
into her heart like molten lead. He took breath, as if 
after some violent physical exertion, and then continued; 

I do not answer the accusations with which you have 
overwhelmed my mother and myself. They grieve me 
for your sake. They are unworthy of your nobler self. 
I have treated you as I was compelled to do by my sense 
of honour. I have told you what was, according to my 
profoundest convictions, indispensable to the happiness 
of marriage. That you refuse, — that you can refuse me 
the sacrifice I ask of you, — proves to me that you do not 
love me. This is what separates us. And I pray you 
to remember that, as I sacredly believe, it is the duty 
of a man to convince himself that the woman whom he 
seeks to marry is fitted to be the mother of his children ; 
and your heart is not yet open to the wide, self- forgetting 
affection that can alone suffice to enable a woman to un- 
dertake the hard duties of a wife and mother. Will it 
ever be thus open ? Who can tell ? Another may on^ 


OR A PET SIC IAN FOR THE SOUL. 


359 


day reap in joy what I have sown in pain. I do not re- 
proach you, — how could I He laid his hand upon her 
head, his eyes were for one moment suffused. As he 
looked at her, grief had the mastery, and he was silent. 
She was crushed beneath his gaze, her artificial compo- 
sure forsook her, a cry escaped her lips. She now first 
began to perceive what she had done, and her heart shrunk 
from the burden that she had laid upon it, although she 
did not as yet dream of its weight. 

Johannes gently smoothed her hair from her brow. 
Her agitation restored his self-control. 

“You are kind, Ernestine, — you see how you have 
hurt me, and you are sorry for me. It is the way with 
women. This little weakness does you honour in my 
eyes. I pray you be composed. I am quite calm again.’’ 
He would have withdrawn his hand, but she held it 
fast and looked up at him with those eyes of sad en- 
treaty that had worked such magic upon him when she 
was a child. 

“ Do not utterly forsake me !” she whispered in half- 
stifled accents. 

“ No, as truly as I trust my God will not forsake me, 
I will not forsake you. I will not shun you like a cow- 
ard, who, to make renunciation easy and to learn for- 
getfulness, turns his back upon the good he cannot attain. 
You need a friend who can protect you, placed as you 
are with regard to your uncle and the world. This friend 
1 will be to you, until you find a worthier. Do not fear 
that you will hear another word of love, or of regret. I 
will conquer my grief alone. My one care shall be for 
your happiness. Farewell, and when you have need of 
me send for me.” He pressed her hands once more, and 
turned away without another word. 

Ernestine looked after him as he receded from her gaze. 
She looked and looked until he turned a corner and van- 
ished. Then she sank on her knees and cried in an out- 
burst of anguish, “ Have I really had the strength to 
do this ?” 

She must have remained thus some time beneath 
the shade of the trees, when the sound of carriage- 
wheels approaching startled her to consciousness. It 


360 


ONLY A GIRL; 


was her uncle. He stopped the vehicle and descended 
from it. 

“ You can take out the horses,’^ he said to the coach- 
man. “I shall not drive to town.” The man turned 
and drove home again. 

Leuthold stood mute before Ernestine, piercing her 
soul with his penetrating glance. He had learned from 
Frau Willmers everything that had occurred the day 
before, but nothing of the intercourse that had pre- 
viously taken place between Ernestine and Johannes. 
Scarcely a week had passed, and had his ward already 
escaped him — fled with an utter stranger ? The thing was 
impossible. Ernestine was no coward, — a crowd of 
drunken peasants could never have driven the shy girl 
into the arms of the first stranger whom she met. She 
must have previously known her magnanimous cham- 
pion. He interrogated the other servants, but they one 
and all hated him and were devoted to Frau Willmers. 
They all declared their entire ignorance, — “the Fraulein 
must have met the gentleman at the school-house, — he 
was often there.” 

This was enough to prove to Leuthold that the ground 
was unsteady beneath his feet, and for a moment he suc- 
cumbed under the weight of this new anxiety. Was it 
possible to guard a woman more strictly, to seclude her 
more utterly, than he had guarded and secluded Ernes- 
tine ? And yet — yet in this heart, that he thought long 
since dead, injpulses were strong that would seek and 
find expression in spite of every precaution that he might 
take. And all this at a moment when he was battling 
for life and death with a peril which required younger 
and more unbroken energies than his own ! 

It was too much ; a presentiment seized him that fate 
had decreed his ruin. But he collected himself once 
more, and took counsel with himself, as was his custom 
in all emergencies. As we turn to Heaven when all 
around us seems dark, so he turned in his direst need 
to his own understanding and will, that had hitherto 
sufficed him. 

Allowing himself but brief refreshment after all his 
anxiety and alarm, he ordered the carriage and set out 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


361 


for town to bring home his ward. But, to his great sur- 
prise and delight, he found her thus near home, evidently 
weary and disconsolate. 

“ Aha, like the mermaid in your beloved fable, you have 
been trying your fortunes among mankind, away from 
your cool, clear, native element,” he said to himself with 
a smile. “ They liked you well, I doubt not, at first sight, 
but you have not gained much, for they soon discovered 
that you were half fish and not fit to live with them 1” 

As he approached her, he put on an expression of dis- 
tress, and when the coachman had gone he began in a 
tone of great anxiety, “ Merciful heavens, do I find you 
thus ? Weeping by the roadside like a homeless beggar I” 

“ True, true indeed, — like a homeless beggar,” Ernes- 
tine repeated. 

“ But, my dear child, is this becoming, — such a scene 
in this open spot, — writhing on the ground here like a 
worm ?” 

She looked at him. He had on a broad-brimmed, light- 
gray felt hat. As ever, his costume was faultless. Stand- 
ing before her with a lowering glance, his tall, supple 
figure now bending down to her, his eyes riveted upon 
her, he it was that seemed to her like a worm, and a most 
poisonous one, and with unmistakable aversion she 
sprang up and recoiled from him. 

He stepped back and looked at her with amazement. 
*‘What! is this Ernestine von Hartwich, whom I have 
educated — whose philosophical composure nothing could 
disturb ? or is this wayward child a changeling, brought 
hither by some evil sprite ?” 

“ Spare me your sneers, uncle,” said Ernestine impe- 
riously. “ They disgust me 1” 

Leuthold’s amazement increased still further. “What 

what words are these ? Is this what is taught at Frau 

Btaatsrathin Mdllner^s ? Upon my word, Ernestine, I be- 
lieve you are ill.” 

“ Yes, yes, I am, and I pray you to leave me. You can- 
not restore me to health.” 

“ What an amount of mischief has been done in these 
few days when you were without my advice and protec- 
tion 1 It is true, I cannot tell what has happened, but 

31 


362 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Bomething serious must have occurred. I forbear to re- 
proach you for making acquaintances without my knowl- 
edge, and for leaving the house without my permission, 
and thus causing me great anxiety, for I see you are suf- 
ficiently punished already, but, I beg of you, do not do 
so again. You see now what comes of it.” 

“ And I beg of you, uncle, not to treat me thus, like a 
child, who must say, after she has been chastised, ‘ I will 
not do so again !’ If I wished to return to the world, of 
which I had my first experience yesterday, you could not 
forbid me to do so, for” — involuntarily she repeated what 
the Staatsratliin bad said — “ you cannot forbid my doing 
what does not infringe the law. But I do not, and never 
shall, wish to return, — never I I am out of place among 
other people. I do not understand their ways, nor they 
mine.” She looked at Leuthold with suspicion. “I do 
not know whether you have been right in bringing me up 
as a perfect recluse, — in making me so unfit for life in the 
world. Who can tell that it would not have been better 
to leave me my simplicity of heart, and not to have led 
me into paths whence there is no return? 1 will struggle 
on in my lonely way as never woman struggled before, 
until the day comes when I can convince and shame the 
most incredulous. But let me tell you, uncle, that if 
the day never comes when my fame atones to me for all 
the happiness I have resigned, — then, uncle, I shall curse 
you I” 

She spoke the last words with an expression that 
alarmed even the cold-blooded Leuthold. In an instant 
he grasped the whole situation, fie saw that she had 
made some sacrifice to her ambition that was almost too 
great for her strength. His ready wit soon divined what 
had occurred. It was a blow, of the significance of which 
he was perfectly aware. He felt that he had reached a 
crisis that demanded all his caution and forethought, and 
he did not venture to speak until he had pondered well 
what course to adopt. Thus they arrived at the gate of 
the castle-garden in silence. He opened it for Ernestine 
to pass in. As they walked past the spot where she had 
stood with Johannes on the previous evening, Ernestine 
burst into tears. Leuthold looked at her in surprise, and 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 363 

she controlled herself and waked hastily on. As always, 
he had the effect of cold water upon her. Her wound 
did not bleed in his presence. 

“ I was greatly irritated when I learned, upon my 
arrival this morning, what had happened,” he began 
at last. “Our very lives are not secure in the midst 
of this mob of ignorant peasants. We must seriously 
think of removing elsewhere, — we cannot possibly remain 
here.” 

Ernestine made a gesture of dissent. 

“ What, you do not wish to go ? What can induce you 
to stay here, where all are so hostile to you ?” 

Ernestine did not reply. After a pause she said curtly, 
“Yery well. You have proposed our departure, — that 
is enough for the present. I will think of it.” 

They entered the house. 

“Ernestine, I have brought you the sphygmometer 
I promised you, — would you like to see it ?” 

“No, I will go to my room and rest.” 

Leuthold knew not what to do. He did not wish to 
leave her to herself, but would have made use of her agi- 
tation to extort her secret from her. She had reached 
the door when he cried after her, “Apropos, Ernestine I 
I congratulate you 1” 

“ Upon what?” 

“ I committed an indiscretion this morning, and found 
upon your table the essay that you have withheld from 
me for so long. I assure you, Ernestine, I was actually 
astounded 1 It is far beyond anything you have ever 
done before, — it will be a perfect bomb-shell in the scien- 
tific world P 

Ernestine dropped the handle of the door and looked 
sadly at him. “ Do you think so ?” She shook her head. 
“ They will not pay it any attention.” 

“ Oh, you are mistaken. It must make its mark. Be 
easy upon that point. How did such a magnificent 
thought occur to you ?” 

“As such thoughts always occur, — if it can only be 
verified I” 

“ Oh, most certainly it can be verified. I’ll warrant 
its correctness. Girl, there is a great future in store for 


364 


ONLY A GIRL; 


you. I thought I knew you, but you continually sur- 
prise me by your genius.” 

“ Oh, uncle, I scarcely dare to hope. I know now how 
men despise the attainments of learned women. There 
is no use in talking or writing unless I can adduce proofs, 
irrefragable proofs, that are accessible to all. The science 
of to-day demands facts, and, if I cannot procure them, I 
can never convince these prejudiced minds.” 

“ Be assured that every one who reads that paper of 
yours will be spurred on to make experiments in the 
matter. Leave it to those practised in technicalities to 
work out the demonstration. The merit of the idea will 
always be yours.” 

“And even if they find it worth the trouble to investi- 
gate the matter, and then do it so carelessly that tl^y 
do not arrive at the desired result, it will always be 
thought a mere hypothesis, and I a learned fool. Madame 
du ChAtelet was laughed at for publishing her novel idea 
that the different colours of the spectrum gave out dif- 
ferent degrees of heat. What did it profit her that Ro- 
chon, forty years afterwards, hit on the experiments that 
yielded the proof of her hypothesis ?* She had long been 
mouldering in the grave, and not a laurel had ever been 
laid upon it. Oh, this is a miserable existence I How 
long must we toil on thus, step by step?” 

Involuntarily she left the door of her room, and ap- 
proached her uncle. 

He took her clasped hands, and felt that she was again 
within his power. “ Until there is a woman with suffi- 
cient force to withstand a man. They are all Brunhil- 
das, — these mighty heroines. They fall victims to the 
Siegfrieds who master them. You, Ernestine, are per- 
haps the only woman capable of accomplishing the task 
calmly and with a clear mind. You succumb to no 
inferior passion, but keep your eyes fixed steadily on the 
mark. You will shatter the prejudices of the world, 
and no human, being will dream who aided you in your 
work. I have long forgotten how to think and act for 
my own advantage. You are my pride, something more 


* See Du Bois Rejmond ; Voltaire, in Relation to Natural Science, 
Berlin, 1868 . 


365 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 

than my child, — the child of my mind. Your education 
is my work, your honour is my honour. Come then, I 
have been thinking of it, and believe I have hit upon an 
experiment that will demonstrate your idea.” 

“ Uncle, what is it cried Ernestine, flushing up. 

“ Come into the laboratory now. We will see, upon 
the spot, what can be done.” 

“ Uncle,” said Ernestine, overflowing with gratitude, 
“you give me new lifel Forgive me for doubting you 
and doing you injustice for a moment !” 

“ Never mind, my dear child, it is all forgotten. I can 
easily imagine how others have assailed me to you, and 
that you gave heed to them. Have we not all our hours 
of weakness ?” 

“Yes, oh, yes, uncle, it was an hour of weakness I” 
-ind in deep humiliation she covered her face with her 
hands. 

“I can guess,” said Leuthold calmly, with his melo- 
dious insinuating voice. “ They burdened your heart, — 
you have been spoken to of love, — ^you have been sought 
for a wife. Is it not so ?” 

Ernestine made no reply. 

“ They knew you for the feminine Samson that you 
are, and would have shorn your hair, that they might 
call out, ‘The Philistines are upon you 1’” 

Ernestine interrupted him. “ Hush, uncle I not one 
word, in that tone, of a man who is sacred to me I” 

“ God forbid that I should olfend you ! I am not speak-, 
ing of him, but of his lady-mother, who has him fast by 
her apron-string.” And he gave her a quick, keen glance. 

“And never mention his mother to me I I hate her I” 
cried Ernestine angrily, ascending with him the stairs to 
the laboratory. 

Leuthold now knew enough. “ I can readily under- 
stand that these people should have tried to turn you 
against me,— for he who seeks to win you must first re- 
move me from his path. This they well know, and their 
attempt is natural. But you, with your calm power of 
reasoning, can soon convince yourself that they require 
of you no less a sacrifice than your entire self, and that 
unbounded, although perhaps unconscious, selfishness is 
31 * 


366 


ONLY A GIRL; 


the mainspring of their proceedings, while I, as long as 
you have known me, have treated you with thorough disin- 
terestedness. They humiliated you in your own esteem 
that you might be bought at a more reasonable price. I 
can see by your depressed condition how they discour- 
aged you. I will restore your confidence in yourself, and 
let this act of mine prove to you that I desire nothing of 
you but that you remain true to yourself. This is all the 
satisfaction I ask. And now all is right again, is it not?’^ 

“ Yes, uncle,” said Ernestine, collecting her energies 
afresh. “ And now come, let us try the experiment you 
spoke of.” 

Leuthold’s light eyes sparkled with triumph as he heard 
these words, and together they entered the apartment 
containing her costly scientific apparatus. 

But, exert herself as she might, her labour was all in 
vain. Her hands trembled, everything grew dim before 
her eyes. Her interest in the matter flagged ; other 
thoughts intruded upon her mind. With superhuman 
resolution, she made further efforts, and the hectic spot, 
so alarming to a physician, appeared on either cheek. 
Leuthold did not notice them. He was so absorbed in 
his work that he started, as if from a dream, when she 
fainted away by his side. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE WEAKNESS OF STRENGTH. 

The Bergstrasse was quiet and lonely when Johannes 
returned from Hochstetten. The inmates of the houses 
there were all within-doors, shielding themselves from 
the heat of the midday sun, reflected with oppressive 
intensity from the white houses. Johannes leaned back 
motionless in the carriage, his eyes covered with his hand. 
He never looked up when some dogs came barking around 
the wheels, — indeed, he did not hear them. The exte- 
rior world was dead for him. 


OR A PnrSICTAIf FOR THE SOUL, S^*l 

Halte-ld !" cried a voice from a carriage drawn up 
before his own door. Parbleu! il dortP 

Johannes raised his head. The Worronska was await- 
ing him. 

His carriage stopped. He got out, and the Worronska 
beckoned him to her. Contrary to her custom, she was 
not holding the reins to-day, and was not seated upon 
the box. 

“ I am glad you are come. I came myself to see you, 
Professor Mdllner, as I received no answer to my note, — 
and I was just driving away.’^ 

Johannes was confused. He had received the note 
she had alluded to, but had not opened it. 

“ Pray lend me your arm. Have you one moment for 
me 

“I am at your service,” said Johannes gravely, and 
he helped her out of her carriage. 

“ Will you grant me a short audience in your house, — 
or am I unworthy to enter this temple of science ?” 

Johannes opened the door for her. “ My simple dwell- 
ing is but poorly adapted for the reception of such dis- 
tinguished guests. I can scarcely hope that you can be 
confortable here, even for a few minutes.” 

“ How pleasant this is I” she cried, as he led the way 
to his office. “ Believe me, I like this much better than my 
marble halls, where there is no breath of true feeling.” 

“ I should have thought that one like yourself could 
always collect warm-hearted friends about her,” said 
Johannes absently, only for the sake of saying some- 
thing. 

The countess looked at him for an instant suspiciously. 
She knew in what repute she was held, and the compli- 
ment was perhaps ambiguous. But the cloud upon his 
brow convinced her that his thoughts were busy else- 
where. She looked in his eyes, but his gaze fell before 
hers, as we look away from what offends our delicacy. 
The countess interpreted it otherwise, — his embarrass- 
ment flattered her. 

“Do you call the crowd of coarse flatterers, who once 
surrounded me, warm-hearted people ?” she asked in a 
tone of disdain. 


368 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ If you found none such amongst them, I must lament 
that they kept all such from your side. For no man of 
sincere and warm heart could approach you as long as 
you Were surrounded by such a throng.” 

The countess rose from the sofa, upon which she had 
thrown herself. “ I sent them from me long ago : there 
is nothing to prevent the approach of any man of noble 
character, — but none such attempt it, — I must go half- 
way to seek them.” 

Johannes was silent. The conversation was an infinite 
weariness to him : he had need of all his chivalry to en- 
able him to endure it with becoming patience. 

“You are out of spirits, Dr. Mbllner. Am I the cause 
of it ?” 

“ What a question, countess I Could I say yes, even 
if you were ? I must have been guilty of great rudeness 
towards you, if you can suspect me of such gaucherie?"* 

“ I certainly cannot boast of any exaggerated courtesy 
from you.” 

“ I never force upon others what can have no possible 
value for them,” said Johannes coldly. 

The countess bit her lip. “ Is that meant for me ?” 

“ I do not see how. I said nothing that could in any 
way apply to you.” 

“ Indeed ?” 

“It surprises me to have to assure you of it,” replied 
Johannes, who began to divine that he had touched a 
sensitive spot in the countess’s mind. 

“ Then I believe you. Now let me force upon you 
what can indeed have no value for you, but what people 
usually prize greatly, — money.” 

She opened a pocket-book, and counted out a number 
of bank-notes. “ See, I have come to give you what I can 
for the little girl who was injured. Here are ten thousand 
roubles. I have no more ready money just at present. 
Do you think I may offer this to the people now ?” 

“You are very generous, countess, but it would be 
a greater kindness to these simple people not to put 
the whole sum into their hands at once. If 1 may 
advise you, just settle upon the little girl a small annuity 
for life, — that will preserve her from want, — since she 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


369 


must lose her arm, she will hardly be able to support 
herself. These people will not know what to do with so 
large a sum all at once.’^ 

“ Do you invest it for them, then, in the way you 
think best. An annuity is out of the question : I might 
die, and then there would be difficulties thrown in the 
way of its payment. No. I have written to my agent 
in St. Petersburg for forty thousand roubles more. Then 
the child will be in possession of fifty thousand roubles, 
and can live upon this sum in Germany quite com- 
fortably.” 

“ Countess,” cried Johannes, looking at her with un- 
feigned admiration, “ do you know what you are doing ? 
It is the gift of a monarch 1 I cannot, of course, judge 
of the proportion that this sum bears to your wealth, but 
it is my duty to warn you that it is far beyond what 
these people can possibly expect I” 

“ Heavens, what a talk about a trifle I” cried the 
countess impatiently. “ I need only a little prudence for 
a couple of years, and the expenditure will be entirely 
covered. Even if I should have to deny myself now 
and then, what is it in comparison with the injury that 
my heedlessness has inflicted upon the poor child ? I 
would give her more if I had not so many poor relatives 
whom I must not defraud.” 

“ Such wealth in such hands. Countess Worronska, is 
a blessing to the poor. I see, for the first time, that this 
hand can do more than hold the reins and wield the whip, 
that it can open wide, and scatter with princely liberality 
what others would amass and hoard. Let me imprint 
upon it a kiss of fervent gratitude, — I have done you 
injustice.” 

“ Oh, Mbllner,” cried the beautiful woman, flushed with 
delight, “ I would give all that I possess, and all that I 
am, for one such grateful glance from your eyes I I know 
what the injustice is of which you speak. You have 
hitherto despised me, and now you see that there is some- 
thing in me worthy of admiration. Yes, I have lived 

wildly, I have not heeded the restraints imposed upon 

woman by man, because I did not respect mankind. 
Now, now I acknowledge them, because at last 1 have 


370 


OKLT A OTRL; 


found a human being whom I respect from the depths of 
my soul, and to whom I would gratefully commit the 
guidance of my life. I can give what is better than a few 
thousand roubles. I am capable of the sacrifice of myself! 
If I thought it would win me your esteem, I would throw 
away whip and rein. My hand should know only the 
needle. I would never mount horse again, — never rush 
from place to place, sipping the froth of this world’s de- 
lights. I would never stir from this spot, but lie here, 
clasping your knees, a penitential Magdalene. My wealth 
I would cast at your feet, and lay aside all splendour 
that might charm other eyes than yours. All that I 
have to give, so ardently desired by others, should be 
yours. I should think it an act of mercy if you deigned 
to accept my gift. I know how I transgress all law and 
custom when I, a woman, thus offer myself to him whom 
I love, — but what would be a departure from womanly 
delicacy and reserve in others, is for me a return thither. 
It is not for me to wait proudly for such a man as you 
to bring me his heart. I am sunk so low that in remorse- 
ful humiliation I must sue for esteem and love, try to 
deserve them by the penitence of a lifetime, and not 
murmur if they are withheld from me. I feel the dis- 
grace of this ; but, oh, if I can only through this disgrace 
recover my lost honour, — if I can only, by thus trans- 
gressing law, cease to be lawless 1 Believe me, it is no 
fleeting emotion that speaks through my lips, — it is the 
despairing effort of a stray soul to grasp the redeeming 
power of a true love I” 

She could scarcely conclude ; overcome by passion, she 
fell upon her knees, stretched out her arms to him as if 
drowning, and burst into a storm of sobs. 

Johannes sought in vain to raise her. He was stunned, 
as it were, by this volcanic outburst. Suddenly, into the 
gaping wounds made by Ernestine’s coldness, poured 
the hot lava-stream of a passion of which, in the tem- 
perate zone of his German intellectual existence, he had 
never dreamed. He stood as if before some startling 
natural phenomenon, amazed, overwhelmed, unable to 
collect himself. One thought filled his mind. Where 
he longed for love he could not find it, and where he 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


371 


neither desired nor hoped for it he found it in fullest 
measure. The contrast was too vivid ; as if dazzled, he 
covered his eyes with his hand, and a profound sigh 
escaped him. 

She drew his hand away from his face, and asked, 
‘‘ Mdllner, is that sigh for me 

“ For both of us.” 

“ Mdllner !” she said, and her voice was deep and rich, 
and her soft, gentle touch sought his hand, while her dark, 
glowing eyes were fixed upon him in an agony of sus- 
pense. Thus the beautiful majestic woman knelt there, 
expiating in the torment of that moment her sin in 
not keeping herself pure for this long-delayed love, look- 
ing up to him as to a redeemer, ready to sacrifice for his 
sake herself and a life of worldly enjoyment, — for him, 
the simple student, unadorned by any of the studied 
graces that distinguished the men that had hitherto 
crowded around her, and unconscious of having ever 
sought her love. Could this woman, used only to 
ask and to have, love him thus, and she, the only one 
who could ever be to him what his whole soul thirsted 
for, — she for whom he would only too willingly have 
sacrificed his life, resign him for an illusion, a chimera, 
that could never give her one moment’s joy ? He grew 
giddy, — he drew his hands from the countess’s grasp, 
and sprang up. She bowed her head upon the lounge 
that he had just left, and hid her face in her arms, 
as if awaiting the death-stroke from the sword of the 
executioner. Now, when she knelt thus in the abandon- 
ment of her grief, for the first time he perceived her won- 
derful loveliness, — but only for one moment, — the next, he 
turned from her and threw open a shutter, admitting the 
broad day to chase away the bewildering twilight that 
filled the room. A cool "breeze had arisen, — he inhaled 
it thirstily, and, when he turned again to the countess, 
he was calm. Reflection, so native to him, had con- 
quered his agitation, and by his sufferings for Ernes- 
tine’s sake he knew how to pity this woman who loved 
so hopelessly. It was the purest compassion that beamed 
in his eyes as he raised her head, but again his glance 
bad upon her the effect of magic. 


3T2 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ Oh, not that look, Mollner I Do not look thus while 
you sentence me 1 it makes my doom doubly hard to bear. 
If you cannot tell me that you love me, turn those eyes 
away, — their glance would wake the dead !” 

“Good heavens! Countess Worronska, how can I find 
the right words in which to tell you what I must, if you so 
increase the labour of the task ? I pray you, dear friend, 
listen to me calmly, and think what you impose upon 
me, — either I must play the hypocrite, or give the worst 
offence that can befall a woman.” 

The countess sprang up, and measured him with a look 
in which pain and anger strove for the mastery. He took 
her hands and gently forced her to sit down upon the 
sofa, — she yielded to him mechanically. 

“ Dear Countess Worronska, for both our sakes let me 
preserve the temperate self-possession not easy to so ar- 
dent and impulsive a temperament as yours, but all the 
more incumbent upon the man to whose hands you so 
confidingly entrust your future destiny. It would be of 
little avail to tell you that you promise more than you 
can ever perform. You would not believe me, for the 
woman who loves thinks no sacrifice too great. But 
even true affection is subject to natural change. For a 
time much may be resigned without a murmur, for unac- 
customed joy will compensate for unaccustomed priva- 
tions, but, dear countess, one grows used even to iht 
joy of love, and, though it may not grow cold, it grad- 
ually ceases to be an exceptional bliss, and becomes a 
natural condition, in which the requirements of our 
nature, the habits of our birth and education, reassert 
themselves. And if we are unable to meet these, in spite 
of our affection we become conscious of a want that 
may in the end deprive us even of the knowledge of 
our happiness. This fate is unavoidable in a marriage 
where upon either side a disproportionate sacrifice is 
made. Formed as you are, you could never content 
yourself with the trivial domestic affairs of a German 
scholar; you would soon pine in such captivity, and, 
without losing your love for me, in the sincerity of which 
I believe, you would long for your previous mode of 
living. Those who have never all their lives long recog- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


373 


nized the restraints of homely duty can scarcely reconcile 
themselves to them, however honest their intentions may 
be. As soon as you felt that your duties to me imposed 
a restraint upon you, — and you would feel this sooner or 
later, — you would be wretched I” 

“ It is enough. Professor Mollner,” cried the countess. 
“ Give yourself no further trouble in persuading me to 
doubt myself. If you loved me, you could not consider so 
prudently my advantage in the matter. If you felt for 
me as I do for you, you would not ask how long we might 
be happy, — you would enjoy the moment and be willing 
for it to resign an eternity. Oh, proud and great as you 
are, you bear the brand of a petty existence upon your 
brow, although you know it not. In truth, Mollner, your 
cool repulse does not shame me, for I feel that in the past 
hour I have been the nobler of the two I” 

“You are right, my friend. A woman as beautiful, 
as high in rank, and as richly endowed as yourself has 
no cause to blush for having vainly offered to one 
what thousands covet so greedily. Believe me, if one of 
us is shamed, it is I, to whom favour has been shown so 
undeserved, so unhoped-for, — such favour as only the 
bountiful gods bestow, — a favour which I can never de- 
serve or repay !” Deeply moved, he took her hand ; again 
her eyes sought his. 

“ Oh, Mollner, your heart relents, — I see it does. You 
do not know what love is. Who was there here to teach 
you ? The poor vapid sentiment that they call by its name, 
suffices, it is true, for domestic use, — little is given, little 
required, — how were you to differ from the rest ? A gen- 
uine passion would have caused infinite commotion in 
your commonplace, every-day circles. Only intense feel- 
ing can beget intense feeling, and whoever has known 
none such has never lived. Such a man as you must 
not close his ears like a coward when passion calls. Do 
not withdraw your hand. This moment must decide’ 
whether I remain here or return to Russia. My estates 
are going to ruin. I must either sell them or return to 
them myself. Give me the smallest hope of winning 
your affection, and I will sell all my Russian possessions 
and live here beneath vour dear eyes, in conventual re- 

32 


3U 


ONLY A GIRL; 


tirement and repose, year after year, until at last you 
take me to your heart and say, ‘ I believe in you I’ Then 
— then I will surround you with such a heaven as these 
cold, timid natures about you do not dream of. One word, 
Mollner, — no promise, only a hope, — and I am your 
creature I” 

Johannes regarded the passionate woman in her de- 
monic beauty with a strange mixture of admiration and 
horror, sympathy and aversion. At last he adopted a 
resolution, for he felt that an end must be put to this in- 
terview. “Madame,’’ he said, — not without effort, for it 
was hard for his magnanimous nature to give offence to a 
woman, — “ madame, I see that I must tell you all the truth. 
Hope nothing. It would certainly inflict a deeper wound 
were I to tell you I cannot love you, — it would be cast- 
ing doubt upon your personal charms. What man of flesh 
and .blood could swear that he could not love you — a 
woman all perfection from head to foot ? Such an oath I 
could not presume to take, for my senses are as keen as 
other men’s. But, countess, I will not love you, and I can 
swear to what I will, and what I will not do !” 

lie arose, and the countess arose also, and stood op- 
posite to him, a picture of despair. “ And must I content 
myself with this declaration? Am I not worth the 
being told why ?” 

“ Let it suffice you to know that I consider myself 
bound.” 

“Aha I to the Hartwich 1” 

Johannes stretched out his hand with a deprecatory 
gesture. “ Do not utter her name, madame. I will not 
hear it from your lips.” 

“ It is true, then 1 That proud, frigid wraith — that 
phantom, in whose veins there flows not one drop of warm 
blood — has robbed me of you ! Curse her 1” 

“Hushl curse her not, madame; it destroys my new- 
torn pity for you!” cried Johannes ’ “It is not she that 
comes between you and me. I could never, never have 
given you my heart or hand, even had I been entirely 
free. Do not force me to say to you what no man should 
say to any woman.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN- FOR THE SOUL. Z16 

“What is it? Ijet me drain the last drop in the cup. 
I will not leave you until I know all.” 

“Well, since you will have it, listen, and may it prove 
your cure in a twofold sense. You could bestow upon 
me, madame, all that the world holds precious, but there 
is one thing that is no longer yours to give, — your honour I 
And were a goddess to descend from the skies for my 
sake, wanting this jewel, she could be nothing to me. I 
should send her back to her glories, and choose rather to 
ibide here below, a poor solitary man.” 

A low cry followed these words, and then silence en- 
sued. The Worronska stood like a statue, with eyes, for 
the first time in her life perhaps, seeking the ground. 
Johannes approached her and said quietly, “You can 
never forgive what I have said. I do not ask you to 
do it; it is best thus. You will hate me for awhile, and 
then forget me. I shall, all my life, have a melancholy 
remembrance of you, for you wished to be kind to me 
and I was obliged to wound you in return. Pour out 
your hatred upon me ; I deserve it at your hands.” 

“Mollner,” said the beautiful woman, drawing her 
breath with effort, “at this moment I am expiating all 
the sins I have ever committed. Farewell, and if you 
hear that I have fallen back into my old manner of life, 
sign the cross above my memory, and tell her whom 
you love, ‘I might have saved that soul, but I would 
not.’” 

Johannes looked at her sadly. “Madame, if the agony 
of this moment does not make the thought of your former 
life hateful to you, my love never could have saved you. 
I disclaim the terrible responsibility you would thrust 
upon me. I have done what I could. I have told you 
the truth, and I cannot believe it will be without effect.” 

“ I thank you,” said the de.^pairing woman with bitter 
irony. Then, with one last Sender look at Johannes, 
which he, standing calmly before her, did not return, she 
turned to go, with the bearing of a queen. He offered 
to conduct her to her carriage, but she refused his aid. 
Her face was ashy pale, and not another word passed her 
compressed lips. 

He boked after her as she entered her carriage and 


376 


ONLY A GIRL; 


buried her face in her hands. He saw how her whole 
frame was shaken with emotion. The carriage whirled 
away, the dust rose in clouds. Johannes re-entered his 
lonely room. “ Ernestine I’’ he exclaimed, as if she could 
hear him, “Ernestine 1’^ 


CHAPTER HI. 

SILVER-ARMED KATHCHEN. 

That was wonderful news for the village of Hochstet* 
tenl The oldest people there could remember nothing to 
match it I The Kellers’ terrible accident had turned out 
the greatest good fortune. The Kellers — poor despised 
day-labourers that they had always been — had come to 
be rich people, and were to be richer still. Kathchen 
might well do without her arm, and, since that was all 
the harm that had been done her, it really was hardly 
worth so much money. Many a one had suffered greater 
injuries, and not a mouse had stirred in their behalf, — not 
even when everything had been pawned in the long idle- 
ness that followed. And this lucky child got immense 
wealth in exchange for her useless little arm I Where 
was the justice of that, pray? It would have been some 
comfort to think that it was devil’s money, and could 
bring the Kellers no good, and that it would be better to 
starve than to use it. At first, indeed, the Kellers 
thought of refusing it, but the Reverend Father had been 
too much for the devil. He had advised the Kellers to 
erect a crucifix by the side of the road where the accident 
had occurred, and to give.the church three hundred gulden 
for masses for their benefactress’s soul. Thus the gift was 
consecrated, and they could accept it with a clear con- 
science. 

Scarcely four weeks had passed, and the cross was al- 
ready standing by the roadside just where Kathchen had 
been run over. It was finer than any other in all the 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


3n 

country round ; and the Kellers, husband and wife, tossed 
their heads, as they passed it, as proudly as if they had 
placed the Lord Jesus Christ himself there in person. 
The cross was ten feet high, and stood upon a pedestal 
five feet high, upon which were inscribed the words, 
“Erected to the glory of God by Pankratius Keller and 
Columbane his wife, Anno Domini 18 — . ‘Let little 
children come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such 
is the kingdom of heaven I’ ” And directly beneath was 
a beautiful painted tablet, whereon all might read, “Wan- 
derer, pause, and mark how wondrously the promise has 
been kept to our child !’’ The painting that was to illus- 
trate these words represented Kathchen with one arm ; 
the other lay upon the ground, and a broad stream of 
blood was gushing from the maimed shoulder. A car- 
riage was driving furiously away. Above Kathchen’s 
head the heavens were opened, and the infant Christ was 
seen in the arms of the Madonna, handing down a silver 
arm. 

This most magnificent and ingenious allegory of the 
silver blessing that had followed Kathcheu’s misfortune 
had cost the poet of the village, the highly-gifted Reverend 
Father, many an anxious thought ; and, in consequence 
of it, the little girl went universally by the name of 
“ Silver-armed Kathchen,” although she persistently re- 
fused to verify her nickname by making use of an artificial 
limb. Her father and mother were the objects of great 
ridicule and envy, but they did not mind it at all, they 
could laugh in their turn, — they bad plenty of money, — 
and, what was more, they had, by means of it, gained 
more favour with the Lord than all those who jeered at 
them. The host of the “ Stag” and the burgomaster 
were the richest people in the village, but neither of them 
could boast that he had given three hundred gulden to 
the Church, and the burgomaster had put up a very m«^an 
cross over in the meadow, and, for economy’s sake, had 
had only the head and hands and feet of Christ painted 
upon it, leaving all the rest of the figure to the imagi^^a- 
tion. 

So they could enjoy their wealth without any m s- 
givings. Thev knew how high in favour they stood wi^h 
32 * 


378 


ONLY A GIRL; 


the Lord; and, besides, Frau Keller had sprinkled the 
package of notes that Mollner had given her with holy 
water. She had done this entirely of her own mind. It 
was impossible to be too prudent in such a case. So now 
that everything had been done to keep off the Evil One, a 
blessing would be sure to follow. Little Kathchen, how- 
ever, thought and felt very differently. She was very 
unhappy to find that the children stood aloof, staring at 
her as at some strange animal when she went to sit in 
the sunshine before the door, and that the big boys 
called her Silver-arm, and plucked her by the empty 
sleeve that dangled from her shoulder. 

But it was worse than all one day when a cripple came 
crawling past, — there were many cripples in the country 
round about, as there always are where human beings 
are fighting for the mastery with the rude forces of nature. 
This man stopped before her and muttered, “ Oh, yes, you 
are treated like a princess I Such a poor fellow as myself 
is worse off than a dog, for when a dog breaks its leg it is 
shot, but I must hobble about and starve for the sake 
of Christian charity I Such pious people as you are can 
always make friends with the Almight}^ and therefore a 
grand coach is sent to drive over you, while only a huge 
stone in the quarry crushed my hip, and there was no 
fuss made about it. The grand folks, whose house the 
stone helped to build, never troubled themselves about 
the human blood that had sprinkled it. Well, well, — 
to every one his own I” 

And the man went hobbling off upon his crutches, and 
Kathchen covered her eyes with the one poor hand that 
was left, and sobbed bitterly. 

“ Is that my merry little Kathchen that I hear crying 
suddenly asked a familiar voice ; and, when the child 
looked up, she saw Herr Leonhardt approaching, sup- 
ported by his son. 

Young Herr Leonhardt was tall and slender, with a 
gentle, frank expression of countenance, — such a face and 
form as one might imagine belonged to the favourite son 
of the patriarch Jacob. There was a certain poetic grace 
in the devotion with which he guided the uncertain steps 
of his blind father. His eyes were bent upon the ground, 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL..^ 379 


that every obstruction might be removed against which 
his father’s feet might stumble. 

He swung his light straw hat hither and thither in his 
hand, and his fair hair encircled his broad brow with 
masses of curls. 

Kathchen stopped crying as soon as she saw him. His 
graceful figure stood alone among the coarse peasant 
youths, and, truly as she loved and honoured his father, 
the son was dearer to her childish heart, for he was 
young, hardly twelve years older than she herself, and 
youth clings to youth. She arose and walked feebly 
towards the pair. 

“Why, Kathi, brave little girl, that never cried when 
they cut off her arm, what has happened to you ?” 

“ They tease me,” sobbed Kathchen, “ because I have 
such an easy time and was run over by a grand coach. 
They envy me my good luck, and no one loves me any 
more. But it shall not be so, — I will not have anything 
more than the other poor cripples, — I will give them all 
some of my money. Seppel needs it far more than I do, 
and he got nothing for the big stone that fell upon him, 
although he is a grown-up man. I am only a stupid little 
child, who never earned anything, and yet I get so much, 
because I have to sit still But I will not keep it, and 
my father and mother must not keep it all to themselves, 
— they are well and strong. I will share it with those 
who have suffered as I have.” 

“ But, my dear little Kathchen,” said Herr Leonhardt, 
much moved, “you are too generous to the people who 
tease you so. If you try to share with all the cripples 
and maimed people in the village, you will have very 
little left for yourself. If Heaven has decreed that you 
are to be rich while they remain poor, you may resign 
yourself gratefully to its inscrutable designs without any 
qualms of conscience. You can help the needy by giving 
them work upon your farm that you are to buy with the 
money that is coming to you. Until then, it would be 
much better to give them a little money weekly, than to 
bestow upon such rough men a large sum, that might 
tempt them to be idle and drink and gamble.” 

“Yes, it would be better; but mother will not let me 


380 


ONLY A GIRL; 


have aDything. She does not like to have me give away 
a single kreutzer.” 

“ But what does your father say asked Walter, who 
had been regarding the child with silent admiration. 

“ Oh, he works all day long in our new field, and does 
not care for anything. Mother keeps the money, and 
when she says, ‘ So it must be,’ he does not say a 
word.” 

“ But how does that agree with your parents’ great 
liberality to the Church ?” 

“ Yes, I told mother she had better give some of the 
mo]iey to these poor people than to the Reverend Father 
and the stone-mason for the masses and the cross; but 
then she told me I was too silly, — that she had given 
the money to the Lord, — and it was far wiser and more 
profitable to give it to Him than only to men, for He was 
more powerful than any of them, and could give a great 
deal better reward for what was done for Him.” 

Herr Leonhardt turned to his son, and, with a gentle 
smile, said, “ Does not that one sentence show the evil 
of this false piety ? These people turn to the Highest 
only for the sake of the reward that they expect. For 
them the Lord is a venal human being, whose protection 
they can procure by bribery, and they now think them- 
selves absolved from all humane and Christian duties. 
Oh, holy, — no, not holy, — unhallowed simplicity !’•’ 

“ Dear father,” said Walter, “it is the same old story 
of indulgences, only in another shape. Tetzel, to be sure, 
is here no longer, but there are still Tetzels in plenty to 
be found, and always will be while there are men in the 
world who prize money beyond all else on earth and 
think it no way beneath the dignity of the Almighty act- 
ually to drive a bargain with them. The noble thought 
of the antique sacrifice is at the bottom of it all. Poly- 
krates threw the ring into the sea to appease the gods, — 
the Christian pays his money to erect a crucifix. But the 
Greek trembled when the gods rejected his offering and 
the fish brought back his ring. The conceit of our age 
regards its offering as an investment of capital, and hopes 
for large interest upon it.” 

The young man passed his hand through his blonde 


OR A PETSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


381 


curls with a light laugh. His father bowed his gray head 
thoughtfully, and pondered upon what his son had said, 
and how far mankind still were from a knowledge of the 
truth. Kathchen looked at both, surprise in her eyes, as 
if they were speaking some strange tongue. All was 
quiet around, for the little girl’s parents were away in 
the fields. A couple of doves were picking up the crumbs 
from Kathchen’s supper, and the ducks were diving and 
whisking their tails in the little brook near the house. 

Quick, firm footsteps were heard approaching. 

“ Here comes our friend Mdllner,” said the old man, 
listening. “ I know his step from all others.” 

“ Yes, Father Leonhardt, it is I,” said Mollner’s clear 
voice. “ How are you all ?” He drew near the quiet 
little group. Before him ran three or four geese, greatly 
terrified and in great anxiety, — but yielding not one jot 
of their dignity, for they never thought of turning aside; 
they were left in the middle of the road, when Johannes 
reached his friends. 

“ Look, Herr Professor,” remarked young Leonhardt 
gaily, “those stupid birds are priding themselves upon 
having maintained their place. See with what haughty 
disdain they are regarding you. They evidently think 
that they have compelled you to turn aside for them 1 It 
is always the way. Wisdom vacates the path shared 
with stupidity, and the latter swells with the pride of an 
imagined victory.” 

Johannes smiled. “What puts these little moral sen- 
timents into your head, my dear Walter? Are you about 
to compose a new primer for your school ?” 

“ It really would not be a bad idea among such people 
as these !” said Walter, as he shook hands with Mollner. 

Mdllner sat down upon the bench before the house and 
took Kathchen upon his knee. “Would not you like, 
Kathchen, to have Herr Walter make you a new 
primer ?” 

“ It might be a capital undertaking, Walter,” remarked 
Herr Leonhardt. “We must not despise small oppor- 
tunities, since larger ones are denied us.” 

“ Yes, father,” laughed the light-hearted young fellow, 
“ but, if my primer is to succeed here, I must have for the 
letter H, 


382 


ONLY A GIRL; 


"‘H stands for Hartwich, good Christians must knovr, 

She’s a terrible witch, who will work them all woe.’ ” 

Herr LeoDhardtmade asign to the thoughtless speaker, 
who looked in alarm at Mollner, who preserved a gloomy 
silence. 

“ You must not laugh at the lady at the castle,” said 
Kathchen, leaning her pale little face against Johannes^ 
throbbing heart. “ My mother complained to-day that I 
had grown as pale and ugly as the Fraulein, and she 
prayed the Lord to break the spell that the Fraulein had 
laid upon me. It made me so sorry, for she cannot help 
my being so pale. She is so good and kind, — how could 
she bewitch me ?” 

Johannes silently drew the child closer to him. 

“ To be sure, she is good and kind, and would not harm 
any one,” said Herr Leonhardt; — but his son interposed, 
with youthful exaggeration, “ She is a saint, — far too 
holy for these ignorant people to be permitted to kiss her 
footprints as she passes 1” 

Johannes pressed his bearded lips upon the child’s 
head, but did not speak. 

“ Herr Professor, where are your thoughts ?” asked 
Leonhardt anxiously, laying his hand gently upon Jo- 
hannes’ shoulder. 

“With the subject of your conversation, dear friend. 
It gives me no rest. It is now four weeks since I have 
seen her. I would not seek her again until I had col- 
lected all the material that was necessary to convict her ' 
uncle, for I must be prepared for the most determined 
opposition on his part to my visits. To-day, through my 
kind old friend Heim, 1 have discovered a clue to Gleis- 
sert’s rascalities, and when I compare the intelligence 
that I have received with the fact of which you informed 
me, that all his letters are addressed to Unkenheim, I 
think I have a terrible weapon against him in my posses- 
sion. And yet, — yet I do not know whether I ought to 
warn Ernestine by letter or to go t-« her myself. Will 
not, — must not the sight of me be painful to her ?” 

“ As well as I remember, you told me that she begged 
you not to forsake her,” said Herr Leonhardi^. 

“ So she did, old friend. But how do I kno\»* how she 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


383 


thinks and feels now, since she never visits yon without 
such anxious inquiries beforehand as to whether I am 
with you, and never, too, unless accompanied by Gleis- 
sert 

“That is all her uncle’s doings,” said Walter. “You 
cannot think, Herr Professor, how he watches and guards 
her. Since I have been allowed to study in her labora- 
tory, I have never for one moment been ajone with her, — 
that devil is always present. And it was with diflQculty 
that she obtained permission for me to come to the castle. 
Willmers says that there was a three-days fight about it, 
but Fraulein Ernestine had made up her mind, and he 
was at last obliged to give way. It is high time that 
something were done for the unfortunate lady, for since 
the completion of her last treatise she has been utterly 
exhausted, and if she goes on thus much longer she will 
kill herself.” 

“I have known that for a long time,” said Johannes 
with a profound sigh, “ but what is to be done ? I can 
make no impression either upon her head or heart. My 
solitary hope now lies in separating her from that 
villain.” ' 

“ I think it would be much the best for you to see her 
yourself,” said Walter. “She is really wasting away 
from day to day.” 

“ Yes, I know that it is so by her hands,” added his 
father ; “ they grow so thin and small, and are as cold 
and damp as if she were dying. Ah, Herr Professor, 
their touch pier-ces me to the heart I I actually think I 
can see her suffer, for hands feel so only when they are 
often wrung in physical or mental anguish.” 

Johannes put the child from off his knee, and turned 
away his head, but he could not conceal his emotion 
from the blind eyes of the schoolmaster. 

“ Why attempt to suppress a pain that is so natural, 
dear friend ? Go to her quickly. It will do her good.” 

“ Well, then, I will write her a line,” said Johannes. “ I 
will ask her whether the sight of me would pain or con- 
sole her. Good God I I desire nothing but her happi- 
ness I You, Walter, will, I know, contrive to let her 
have my note without her uncle’s knowledge. She will, 
I hope, answer it in the same way.” 


384 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ Then let us go directly home,” said Herr Leonhardt, 
“that you may write immediately.” 

The gentlemen started to go. 

Kathchen plucked Johannes by his coat. “But, Herr 
Professor, if you go to see the Fraulein to-morrow, you 
will not find her.” 

“How so, Kathchen?” asked Johannes, who had not 
thought that the child had been listening to the conversa- 
tion. 

“ Oh, yes ; I know it is true. Frau Willmers from the 
castle went by here to-day, and whispered to me to tell 
the gentlemen secretly, if they came to see me to-day, 
that the Fraulein was going away to-night forever, but 
I must not let any one know that she had told me, or she 
should lose her place. And if the Herr Professor did 
not come, I must tell it to the master, that he might send 
a messenger to town to the Herr Professor. Frau Will- 
mers cried a great deal, and said she dared not go to the 
school-house, because, — because the Evil One, who watches 
the Fraulein so closely, would know it.” 

“ Kathchen I” cried Johannes, “you little angel, how 
much you have done for me ! The Fraulein would have 
gone to-night, and I should never have known whither, 
if it had not been for you ! Is this all that you know ?’” 

“Yes, this is all, — you may trust me. I listened to 
all she said.” 

Johannes took the child in his arms and kissed her. 
“ Child, tell me how I can reward you. Speak. What 
would you like ? Whatever it is, you shall have it.” 

“ Ah, dear Herr Professor, if you would only persuade 
my father and mother to let me have some money for the 
poor people. Oh, do, do beg them. And then they will 
not laugh at me and call me Silver-arm any more. I will 
make them happy, too, or else I shall be just like the 
Fraulein, and no one will like me at all, — and I would not 
have it so for all the money in the world.” 

“ I know what you mean, you good little thing, and 
I promise you that when the rest of your property is sent 
to me I will invest it so that your parents shall have no 
right to any of it, but that you may do with it just what 
Herr Leonhardt advises.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


385 


** Ah, that will be splendid I” cried Kathchen, as she 
kissed the sleeve of Johannes^ coat. “Herr Walter I’* 
she called out, “then you will find out all the poor people 
for me, and tell me how much to give them 

“Yes, Kathi dear, indeed we will I” Walter gladly 
replied. 

Johannes gave the child some pieces of silver. “ There, 
my darling, give those to the next beggar you see, if you 
want to do so. Farewell, all of you. I will not delay a 
moment, for it is time to proceed to extremities.” He 
pressed Leonhardt’s hand, and walked quickly away in 
the direction of the castle. 

“What can have passed up there between the uncle 
and niece said Leonhardt, shaking his head. 

“Father Leonhardt,” said Kathchen, “don’t you tell, 
but I know something.” 

“ What is it, my child ?” 

“ That guardian up there is a very bad man.” 

“That is an old story, Kathi,” said Walter. 

“ Yes, but you don’t know what he does ; he empties 
the letter-box at the school-house when it is dark.” 

“ Is that true ?” 

“ Yes, father saw him do it, but he told me he would 
shut me up for three days if I told any one.” 

“ How did your father happen to see such a thing?” 
asked Herr Leonhardt, amazed. 

“ Oh, he told mother all about it, and I ought not to 
have heard it, but I did hear. Last week, one night 
when he was hiding to try and catch the thief who steals 
our grapes, he heard some one going softly towards the 
school-house, and he hid close, thinking it was the thief. 
And then he saw it was Herr Gloissert, who busied him- 
self about the place where the letters are slipped into the 
box. And father crept nearer, and saw plainly how he 
poked something long and thin into the slit and drew out 
the letters, and then lighted a match and held his hat be- 
fore it that no one might see it. Then by the light of the 
match he read all the writing on the letters, and put them 
back again into the box, — all but one, which he kept. And 
then he went home to the castle again. Father said he 
wanted to seize him and hold him, but he did not know 

33 


386 


ONLY A GIRL; 


what weapons he might have about him, and that there 
was no use of accusing him, for father would be sure- to 
get the worst of it.” 

“What mischief can the scoundrel be brewing?” said 
Ilerr Leonhardt, anxiously. 

Walter laughed. “Ah, father, we are paid now for 
always reading the addresses of the letters he sent from 
the castle.” 

“ That is an entirely different case,” said Leonhardt. 
“ But our friend ought to know this before he reaches the 
castle. Bun, Walter, you are young and strong ; try to 
overtake him, and tell him.” 

“ Yes, father, I ean do it easily. Sit down here, I will 
soon return,” said the young man, hurrying away, fleet- 
footed as a deer. 

Herr Leonhardt felt for Kathchen. “My child, are you 
there ?” 

“ Yes, Father Leonhardt.” 

“ Kathchen, you have repaid me to-day for all the love 
I*have ever given you.” He passed his hands over the 
little, thin face. “ I cannot see you; they tell me you 
arc changed, — and I think you must be. But in my 
fnind’s eye you will always have the same roguish black 
eyes and chubby ro.sy cheeks, with the little berry-stained 
mouth — you have never since told what is not true, eh, 
Kiithi ?” ' 

“ No, Father Leonhardt, on my word and honour, never, 
and I never will again. I am now the richest child in 
all the country round, mother says, and I will try to be 
the best, and thank th^ kind God, as you say I should, 
by kindness to others. And, now that 1 cannot fold my 
hands any more when 1 say my praj’ers, I must pray 
very hard indeed, — harder than before, — for then I always 
felt as if I had the dear God between my hands and 
could keep Him and make Him listen tome, but now that 
I cannot do that I must call Him oftener, and beg Him to 
listen to my prayers.” 

“ iSIy dear little child, God is always near you, — he 
loves to dwell in a pure, childlike heart. Kathchen, 
are a flower in the blind man’s path. Do you know what 
that means ?” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 387 

Kathchen laid her head upon Leonhardt’s knee. “I 
think it means that you love me.” 

“ Yes, my child, and that there are few joys in my life 
like what you are to me.” 

“But, father, you have Walter, he is more* to you 
than I can be.” 

“ God bless him I he is my staff and prop in the dark- 
ness. He is the best that I have on this earth.” 

“ Father Leonhard t, when I grow up I will marry Wal- 
ter, and then we will all live together.” 

“ My child, what put that into your little head ?” 

“Why, my mother says that now I am so rich that I 
can choose any husband that I please, — and I will choose 
Walter and no one else — no one.” 

“ But suppose he will not have you ?” asked Herr 
Leonhardt with a smile. 

“Oh, but he will have me, — I know h^ will,” said the 
child confidently. 

“ Oh, holy, holy simplicity!” whispered the old man, and 
laid his hand in blessing upon the little girl’s head. 

And as he sat there, gazing into the night that had 
closed around him, suddenly to his inner vision all grew 
light about him. From the vanishing darkness arose 
the columns of a church, and through the high arched 
windows the sunlight fell full upon the heads of a youth- 
ful pair kneeling at the altar. Around stood a throng of 
glad relatives and friends, amongst them a hoary blind 
father, and by his side an old mother, with tears of joy 
standing in her eyes. The young couple were fair to 
look upon, — the bridegroom blonde, bearded, manly, the 
bride blushing in girlish timidity. Her large, frank eyes 
were swimming in tears of devotion and emotion, but 
her charming little mouth was slightly stained as if from 
eating berries. 

“What! what !” said the people around her, “picking 
blackberries upon her wedding-day ?” 

Then the organ began a well-known hymn, and all 
present joined in singing it. The bride gave her lover 
her hand, — only her left, to be sure. — but its clasp was as 
strong as if there were two to give, — for it was for a life- 
time. And then the ceremony was ended, and they all 


388 


ONLY A GIRL; 


went out into the clear Spring sunshine. A crowd of 
familiar faces pressed around, — poor, deformed, and 
maimed figures, that still seemed not unhappy, for they 
were all well clad and fed, — and they waved their caps 
in the air, with “ Long life to the bridal pair I Since you 
have made this place your home, there will be no starving 
or freezing poor here. Long life to our Doctor Walter 
Leonhardt and to Silver-armed Kathchen I” 

Oh, sunny, peaceful picture I how it cheered the blind 
man’s soul ! A lovely dream of the future, born of the 
prattle of a child, hovering around an old man upon the 
verge of the grave I 

“ Father Leonhardt, what are you smiling at ?” asked 
the child. 

“At something beautiful that I have just seen.” 

“ I thought you could not see any more ?” 

“ I can see, my child, not things that are, but perhaps 
all the more plainly things that are to be.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

BATTLE. 

Ernestine was sitting at her writing-t^le, arranging 
books and papers to be packed up. Her uncle was as- 
sisting her with trembling haste. From tinfe to time she 
leaned her head wearily upon her hand. 

“It will be impossible for us to leave to-day if you 
do not make more haste,” said Leuthold urgently. 

“ I am doing all that I can, but I am so weak that I 
do not know whether I shall be able to travel to-night.” 

“I cannot imagine how you can give way so. You 
never used to do it. When I think of the self-control 
that you were wont to exercise, — your determination 
would have done honour to a man, — and now I Oh, it is 
deplorable I” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


389 


“You torture me, uncle 1” cried Ernestine, as she threw 
several books into a chest at her side. “ You will not 
believe that 1 am really much weaker than I have ever 
been before. It is of my own free will that I am going 
away — why should I not hasten as much as I can?’’ 

Her uncle looked askance at her with a smile. “You 
are mistaken, my child. It is not your will that is acting, 
— it is only a whim that thus urges you on. And a whim 
is the child of circumstances, and can be controlled by 
them.” 

“ I do not know what circumstances could control this 
‘ whim,’ as you are pleased to call it. Nothing can happen 
to-day or to-morrow to change my determination. What 
delay can you apprehend? No one knows of my de- 
parture, so that it cannot be impeded by remonstrances 
from any quarter. I have not even told good old Leon- 
bardt that I am going, and Willmers heard it only this 
morning. Could I do more to prove to you that I am in 
earnest ?” 

Leuthold looked at her again with his sarcastic smile. 
He knew well that Ernestine had preserved this strict 
silence concerning her departure only because she did not 
feel strong enough to withstand any friendly remon- 
strances. Therefore he trembled lest some unforeseen 
accident might yet divulge her plans. His very existence 
depended upon her staying or going. During the four 
weeks that had elapsed since Ernestine’s return from 
town, Leuthold’s entire influence had been exerted to re- 
move Ernestine from this part of the country, and, if 
possible, from Germany. She must never again see the 
man who had evidently made such an impression upon 
her. Now less than ever could she be allowed to form 
any attachment, for, if she were now to marry, and re- 
quire her property at his hands, he was lost! He had 
cautiously managed to secure an appointment, through 
an American agent, in a large chemical manufactory in 
New York. To Ernestine he had opened the brilliant 
prospect of delivering a course of scientific lectures 
there. The fact that she had received the prize from 
a German university for one of her papers would 


390 


ONLY A GIRL; 


surely suffice to make her reputation in America, — 
and Leuthold had honestly done his best to have her 
fame as an intellectual phenomenon noised abroad. In 
his present embarrassed circumstances, it was of the 
greatest importance to him that she should be placed in 
a position to support herself, that she might not be a 
burden to him. If the lectures did not succeed, she 
would have to earn her living as a “ female physician.” 
But upon this point he prudently forbore to enlighten 
her. He fired her imagination with the enormous ad- 
vantages, pecuniary and other, that must accrue from her 
lectures. The means that he employed to win her to his 
purpose were to an ambitious woman irresistible. She 
saw before her a future such as no woman had hitherto 
enjoyed. She saw herself in one of the vast halls of 
New York, lecturing to a crowd of men who were all 
listening attentively to — a girl ! She saw herself re- 
garded as the miracle of her sex. The most secret 
dreams of her pride were to be realized, — the seeds of 
her quiet diligence were to spring up and bud forth in 
the sight of all, — the world should ring with the fame 
of what a woman could do. And yet it was hard to 
decide ; it was weeks before she could bring herself to 
sign the simple letters of her name to the acceptance of 
these proposals; no labour of her life — nothing whereon 
she had expended days and nights of study — ever cost 
her as much as this single signature. 

Mollner’s grave, earnest face had scared her back 
from clutching these new honours, as Banquo’s ghost 
frightened the usurper from the royal chair. It seemed 
to her that she was guilty of a crime towards him, — and 
at last, in a torment of doubt, she secretly wrote to him. 
She told him everything, and begged for his counsel 
and advice. She did not conceal from him that she 
could not take so decisive a step without his blessing. 
Why this letter never reached Mdllner, no one knew 
besides Leuthold, except Kathchen and her parents. 

Day after day passed, and of course Ernestine waited 
in vain for an answer. She waited as if for a decree 
of life or death. Sleep refused to visit her burning eye- 
lids. She took barely sufficient nourishment to support 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 391 

life. She pined with desire for only one word — one 
single word — from Mollner, — and it did not come. She 
was no longer worth a stroke of his pen. Since her re- 
fusal of his suit, he would none of her. lie bad con- 
quered himself, — had given her up, — and in how short a 
time I 

And the more she had longed for a letter or a visit 
from him, the greater was her bitterness of mind, — the 
offence to her pride, — when she received neither. As 
often as she approached her writing-table, her eyes were 
greeted by the large capitals of the flattering proposal 
she had received, with all its alluring promises. What 
was there now to wait for? Why should she hesitate 
now? And so she signed her acceptance. 

And now nothing should cause her to waver in her 
pride of purpose. She would have the revenge of being 
irrevocably lost to him, she would vanish without one 
word of farewell, that from a distant quarter of the globe 
the fame of her greatness might reach his ears. 

She did not even confide in Willmers, for she dreaded 
her garrulity. Only on the very last day the housekeeper 
received orders to dispose of Ernestine’s movables as 
quickly as possible, and then to follow her, for Leuthold 
wished, before sailing, to take leave of Gretchen, whom 
he purposed to leave in Germany for the present. But 
Ernestine was to accompany him. He would not, — he 
dared not now, — lose sight of her for a moment. 

She wrote a fervent, heartfelt farewell letter to Leon- 
hardt, and begged him to keep her books and apparatus 
until she should claim them again. As she did not know 
yet where her future home would be, she could not make 
use of them herself. Walter might find them useful. 
Thus delicately she bestowed upon Walter the costly gift 
of the instruments for the further pursuit of his studies. 

After their departure, her uncle was to be informed of 
her disposal of the physiological works and apparatus, 
which he had ordered Willmers to sell. He would never 
have consented to it, for Ernestine bad often, to her sur- 
prise, noticed how desirous he was of ready money. 

She bound Willmers by a solemn promise not to de- 
liver the letter to Herr Leonhardt until the writer had 


392 


ONLY A GIRL; 


departed, and thus everything was provided for, — every- 
thing was thought of, — everything except Ernestine’s 
physical condition. The inflexible girl had been accus- 
tomed to take so little care of her health that she had 
given no heed to her increasing exhaustion, — the natural 
consequence of the superhuman efforts of the last few 
weeks. But to-day she could hardly stand, and the 
thought of undertaking so long a journey began to alarm 
her. 

She sat there before her uncle the picture of weariness. 
He regarded her dubiously. Could he succeed in getting 
her on board of the steamer? Then, if she were taken 
ill, it would of course be ascribed to sea-sickness, which 
scarcely any one escapes. And if she died? Then all 
would be well with her. He would bury her under 
the billows of the ocean, and all his hatred, his alarm, 
and his crimes would sink with her beneath the waves, 
which, as they swathed her dead body, would wash 
away from him all disgrace and guilt. This thought was 
as boundless in comfort as the ocean that was begin- 
ning to open upon his horizon. 

“ Uncle, do not gaze so strangely at nothing,” said 
Ernestine. “You look as if you were devising no good.” 

Leuthold smiled. “You are nervous indeed, my child. 
Since when has my face looked strange to you ?” , 

Ernestine did not reply. She went on wrapping a book 
in paper, to pack it in the chest. 

“Is that old fairy-book to go too?” asked Leuthold 
ironically. 

“Yes,” was the curt, decided reply. 

“ Weill well I Have you not a doll somewhere that I 
can pack with it ?” 

Ernestine started up. “Uncle, I told you once before 
that I will not endure that tone!” 

“Beg pardon, but such folly provokes a jest. Or per- 
haps the book has a deeper value for you? You need not 
blush, — I can guess. It is a remembrance of the knight 
of the oak, — Mollner 1 Ah, then indeed we must cer- 
tainly take it with us.” 

“Uncle,” cried Ernestine, taking the book from him as 
he was about to put it in with some others, “you know 


OB A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


393 


how to depreciate with your sneering speeches everything 
that I have held dear. Let the book alone; 1 will give 
it to little Katbchen.” 

“And when Professor Mollner visits her, and finds it 
there, it will touch his heart, that the friend whom he 
has forsaken has guarded his memory so faithfully until 
now. If he turns over its leaves, he will doubtless find 
the oak leaf that you have pressed among them. Perhaps 
he will think it a mute farewell, and bestow upon you a 
tear of compassion. How gratifying it will be I” 

“Uncle, if I thought that, I would rather burn the 
book!” 

“ And that would, at all events, be the best thing to do 
with it. That self-conceited fellow is not worth the re- 
membrance that you cherish of him. I would efface it, 
as I would every impression that is unworthy of you. 
Indeed, I have long been indignant, although I never 
spoke of it to you, at his so easily forgetting you. Such 
a woman as you are is not to be resigned like an article 
of merchandise about which buyer and seller cannot 
agree. He never loved you, or he would never have 
dreamed of making conditions in his proposal to you, as 
if you were to deem it a great honour that he should 
condescend to you. Trust me, I know the world and 
mankind thoroughly. He was in the greatest embarrass- 
ment, for he felt himself morally obliged to offer you his 
hand.’’ 

Ernestine started. 

Leuthold continued, “ I do not know how you con- 
ducted yourself towards him, but, with your inexperience 
and the preference that you entertain for him, — do not 
deny it, — it is reasonable to suppose that you must have 
made advances.” 

Ernestine bit her lip, and looked down. 

“ The one fact that you accompanied him to his house 
alone, without any intimate acquaintance with him, — 
without an invitation from his mother, — must have led him 
to fancy that you were desperately in love with him, and 
he was conscientious enough to wish to efface the stain 
that you had thus unwittingly cast upon your honour, by 
asking you to be his wife. I do not question for a mo- 


394 


ONLY A GIRL; 


ment that his intentions towards you from the very be- 
ginning were honourable and kind, but his feelings seem 
to me to have been those of simple friendship, until your 
advances forced him, as it were, to a declaration. Prob- 
ably he is now congratulating himself in silence upon 
his fortunate escape. But you sigh and languish like a 
love-sick girl over his memory, and would carry the only 
gift that you have ever received from him, bestowed upon 
you out of sheer compassion when you were a fright of a 
child, across the ocean with you as a relic ! Ernestine, 
what is the matter with you? For Heaven’s sake, con- 
trol yourself I What nonsense ! You have actually con- 
tracted a habit of fainting!” 

He supported her drooping head and fanned her pale 
face. 

She looked up at him wearily, then thrust him from her 
with evident aversion, and stood up. Leuthold said no- 
thing more. For the first time she had allowed him to 
speak of Mollner, and he had seized the opportunity to 
pour into her soul the surest poison that ever destroyed 
love, — he was content now to let it work. 

Ernestine walked several times to and fro: her step, 
her bearing, was queenly, — she seemed suddenly to have 
grown taller. Her uncle might be right, — she hated 
him for it, but still he might be right. What must Jo- 
hannes — what must his mother think of her for so 
throwing herself at him ? This was why his mother had 
treated her so, — this was the cause of the cool conditions 
proposed to her by the son ! She repeated to herself 
every one of Johannes’s words, — they were almost all 
words either of grave warning or stern reproof. Even 
when he had been kind to her, it had been the kindness 
of a father or a judge. Never, not even when suing for 
her hand, had he laid aside the proud, measured bearing 
that was native to him. His pity had been that of a 
superior being for a soul astray, not of a lover for his 
beloved. And she I She recalled every cordial word, 
every kindly glance, that she had bestowed upon Jo- 
hannes, and she persuaded herself that she had been too 
fond, that her behaviour, in contrast with her usual cold 
demeanour, had verged upon impropriety, and must have 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


895 


been construed by him into an advance. Yes, possibly 
he despised her for it, — and she had even gone so far 
as to write to him I All the little merit of not consent- 
ing under the proposed conditions to become his wife was 
annulled by this last act, which must have been regarded 
by him as a fresh advance, and, as such, silently re- 
pulsed. She could have fled from him to the ends of the 
earth, — the mere thought of him was enough to drive 
the hot blood to her cheeks. Away, away, across the 
ocean 1 — this suddenly became the one desire of her heart. 
She stood still as she passed the fireplace, and said to 
Leuthold, “ Burn the book!” They were the first words 
that passed her lips. 

The instant the words were spoken, Leuthold threw the 
volume into the midst of the flames. Ernestine stood by 
and watched them curling around the covers, which bent 
and rolled up in the heat. They were soon destroyed, 
and with invisible, soft-crackling fingers the fiery draught 
toyed with the burning book, and, as page after page 
opened to the glow, the flame — greedy reader — devoured 
them. Ernestine watched it all. She saw the names 
which had been so dear to her, flash out and vanish. 
The cold, glittering snow queen, — the little mermaid in 
her watery home, — all perished in the red heat I 

Now the oak leaf, that she had once snatched from the 
dear old tree, fell away to ashes, — the whole book dropped 
apart and blazed up afresh, — the loosened leaves were 
tossed up and down in the wreathing flames. There, — 
there was one more name, — the swan. The leaf flew aloft, 
and the swan, the beautiful swan, was burned to ashes. 
Never again would it spread its plumage for her, — 
never arise, a second phoenix, from its funeral pyre. The 
little fairy world had vanished, and only a few sparks 
remained, shooting hither and thither, as if in search of 
the transformed shapes of the creatures of fairy lore. 

Ernestine turned away. The fire seemed to have scorched 
the pinions of her soul. She hung her head, like the god 
with the inverted torch, and wept I 

Leuthold did not disturb her ; he felt that he must 
spare her now. 

Suddenly the door opened, and Frau Willmers said 


396 


ONLY A OIRL; 


in a tone of great trepidation, “ Herr Professor M611- 
ner I” 

Leuthold started as if struck by an arrow. Ernestine 
leaned against the chimney-piece, or she would have fallen. 

“ How dare you admit any one just at this moment ? — 
how dare you ?” he said, transported with rage and terror. 

“ I cannot help it, Herr Doctor. I could not do other- 
wise, — the gentleman declared positively that he would 
not stir from the spot until I had announced him.” 

“ Tell the geutleman that we cannot receive visitors.” 

Frau Willmers looked hesitatingly at Ernestine, who 
stood as pale and immovable as ever. 

“ Well, what are you waiting for ?” asked Leuthold, 
and there was a threat conveyed in his tone and manner. 

“ I am going, — I will go instantly,” replied the woman, 
and hurried from the room. 

Ernestine took one step forward, as if she would have 
followed her. But she controlled herself. She was a 
prey to a storm of emotions that almost deprived her of 
consciousness. He had come, then, — he had not utterly 
given her up. It almost broke her benumbed heart to 
send him away. But no, — she rebuked her own weak- 
ness, — he had waited long before coming, and perhaps had 
come at last only because he felt it his duty to obey her 
summons. She would — she could yield to no further 
weakness. 

Leuthold stood by the door, and held his breath while 
he listened to hear Johannes depart; but, to his immense 
discomfiture, Frau Willmers reappeared. 

“ The gentleman will not go,” she said with secret 
expltation. “He says he came to see the Fraulein, and 
will take no dismissal from her uncle, for, as the Fraulein 
has been of age for several years, it is for her to say 
whom she does or does not wish to see.” 

Ernestine listened eagerly. “ What — what does that 
mean ?” She turned with a look of inquiry to her uncle, 
and was shocked at the great and evident alarm expressed 
in his countenance. “Uncle,” she asked again, “what 
does this mean ? Answer me I” 

“ Do not heed such stupid gossip. The fellow is a 
liar — or ” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


397 


Tell him so yourself, if you have the courage,” Er- 
nestine interrupted him in rising wrath. “Ask the gen- 
tleman to walk in,” she said authoritatively. 

Willmers hurried out. 

“ Ernestine !” cried Leuthold in despair, — “this to me ?” 

“ I will understand what this means about my being 
of age,” cried the girl, with a glance at Leuthold before 
which his eyes sought the ground. 

Mdllner entered. He regarded Leuthold with entire 
composure and profound contempt, then bowed to Ernes- 
tine without looking at her. He wished to spare her, to 
give her time to collect herself. She misunderstood him. 
Me thought he was cold, and met him with coldness. 

A long pause ensued. 

Leuthold, wishing to appear quite at his ease, broke 
the silence. “Allow me to ask, sir, what, after all that 
has passed between my niece and yourself, procures us 
the honour of a visit from you.” 

“I am about to inform Fraulein von Hartwich upon 
that head, and you will greatly oblige me by remaining 
present at this interview.” 

“ Be pleased, then, to be seated,” said Leuthold, mo- 
tioning Johannes to a chair, “ and let me request you to 
be brief, since we are just on the eve of departure.” 

“You will not go, Doctor Gleissert.” 

“ Sir 1 Are you better instructed than ourselves con- 
cerning our plans ?” 

Johannes waited until Ernestine was seated, and then, 
taking a chair, replied with decision, “ Not concerning 
your plans, but their fulfilment, — which I shall, in case 
of necessity, prevent by your arrest.” 

Leuthold was stunned for one moment, but, recovering 
himself, smiled at Ernestine, who looked astounded, and 
said, “Ah, here we have the genuine knight of the oak I 
It is a pity that we do not live in feudal times, when an 
honest man could be seized upon the highway and flung 
into a dungeon.” 

“Oh, no. Doctor Gleissert. A quiet scholar like my- 
self has no taste for such adventures. I prefer safer and 
legal means. I shall simply, in case you attempt to 
depart from this place, have you detained by the gens- 

34 


398 


ONLY A GIRL; 


d’armes stationed here, until your business relations with 
Friiulein von Hartwich are satisfactorily explained. Then 
you will be perfectly free to go whithersoever you may 
please. My interest in you will be at an end.’^ 

“ Herr Professor,” cried Leuthold, “ I can only sup- 
pose that some one has shamefully calumniated me to 
you. Let me beg you to come with me to my study, 
that we may not distress my niece by these representa- 
tions. She needs the utmost consideration at present.” 

“ If Fraulein von Hartwich is strong enough to under- 
take the voyage to New York, of which Frau Willraers 
tells me, she can certainly support this conversation. 
But, first of all, let me ask you, Ernestine, whether you 
are leaving your home of your own free will.” 

“ Yes,” she breathed scarcely audibly. 

“ Of course you are your own mistress. But, before 
you carry out your intentions, you must know what you 
are doing. This you do not know at present, and I am 
here to inform you. If you depart with Herr Gleissert, 
you link your destiny to a villain’s I” 

Ernestine and Leuthold started up. Johannes arose 
at the same time, and, leaning one hand upon the table, 
regarded them steadily without a word. 

Leuthold found it impossible to speak. Ernestine was 
lost in gazing at the noble form of his adversary. 

Johannes continued, “ You will require the proofs of 
such an accusation. I have had them in my possession 
only since early this morning, — here they are.” He took 
several papers from his breast-pocket, and unfolded one 
of them. Leuthold glanced at it, staggered back, and 
sank upon a seat. 

“ Did you write that ?” asked Johannes, handing the 
sheet to Ernestine. “ Pray read it.” 

“ No I” she said in evident surprise, as she ran over its 
contents. 

“ Or did you aflax your name to a deed, ignorant of its 
contents, in presence of a notary ?” 

“ Never !” was the decided reply. 

Mollner breathed freely. “This, then, is the proof 
that could send your uncle to jail, if I made use of it, for 
it is a forgery 1” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


899 


Ernestine made a gesture of dissent, as if she could and 
would hear no more. But Johannes was not to be de- 
terred. “ From your first letter to Heim, and from j^our 
conversation with my mother, it is evident, Ernestine, 
that you consider yourself still a minor. It is true that 
you are so by the laws of your country, which make the 
period of minority terminate at the age of twenty-four, — 
and you are only twenty-two years old. But through 
Dr. Heim, who was present at the drawing up of your 
father’s will, I know that you are by it declared legally 
of age at eighteen. This your uncle has concealed from 
you. We will speak by-and-by of his reasons for this 
concealment.” 

“ Then I have been my own mistress now for four 
years?” cried Ernestine in inconceivable amazement, — 
“ and you, uncle, have treated me as if I were a 
child?” 

“ More than that, — he has withheld your property from 
you. Here is a copy of your father’s will. You will see 
that it accords you the right, at eighteen years of age, 
to take possession of the estate, put in trust for you in 
the guardians’ court, and dispose of it as you please. Of 
course you could not avail yourself of this right, as you 
were kept in utter ignorance of it, as well as of the fact 
that you had attained your majority. But your uncle 
has availed himself of it in your stead. He has contrived 
— Heaven only knows how — to imitate your handwriting 
and forge the signature to the document by which the 
guardians’ court delivered over to you — that is, to your 
uncle — ^the property in its charge for you. There was 
no doubt cast upon the authenticity of the document, for 
it was drawn up in due form by an Italian notary and 
accredited by two witnesses to - your personal identity. 
When I suspected that your uncle had purposely kept 
you in ignorance of your affairs, I acquainted the court 
with my suspicions, and they delivered to me this copy 
of the document which I have just handed you for 
identification. You have declared it a forgery. Whether 
I now spare or destroy this man will depend upon the 
result of what we have to say to each other. That I 
allow him one word of explanation is due to my regard, not 


400 


ONLY A GIRL; 


for him, but for your sense of delicacy, Ernestine, which 
would suffer deeply in your uncle’s disgrace.” 

Having thus spoken, while Ernestine had listened in 
mute amazement, Johannes turned to Leuthold. “I ask 
you. Doctor Gleissert, what you have done with the 
money that you have hitherto withheld from your niece.” 

“Before I answer you, sir,” replied Leuthold, who had 
regained his composure, “allow me to ask you when you 
exchanged the pursuit of physiology, wherein you have 
rendered such important service to science, for the study 
of the law, in which, I fear, you will hardly prove so 
great a proficient.” 

“I did so,” said Johannes calmly, “when I felt it my 
duty to protect with the shield of law a young creature 
most grossly defrauded. And I think, sir, that I am 
already sufficiently versed in my newly-espoused science 
thoroughly to expose your frauds. But let me ask you 
again to account, without further circumlocution, for the 
property we have spoken of.” 

“And I demand of you, Herr Professor, what legal 
right you possess to subject me to such an inquiry.” 

Johannes looked at him composedly. “ So be it. If you 
prefer to answer my question to a court of justice, I 
will withdraw my request for an explanation between 
ourselves. Take time to consider which you prefer in 
this matter.” 

“I should, at all events, have less to fear from a legal 
investigation than from a madman, who, in defiance of 
custom and decorum, and regardless of domestic privacy, 
invades a home, and, with a knife at the throats of its 
inmates, demands ‘your money or your life,’ like any 
highway robber.” 

“Uncle,” interposed Ernestine, “I forbid you, in my 
presence, to insult my friend. If you can clear yourself 
of the terrible suspicion that be has cast upon you, do so 
with dignity. Useless insults cannot convince us.” 

“And you, Ernestine, — do you take part against me?” 
cried Leuthold pathetically. 

“I take part with no one; on the contrary, I tremble 
to think that the man who has brought me up may be a 
criminal. But I will not and cannot shield you from the 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


401 


discovery of the truth. You yourself have taught me to 
subject every duty, every impulse of the heart, to cool 
investigation, — to search everything to the foundation, — - 
even at the price of the most sacred illusions. Now, 
cruel preceptor, reap what you have sown I’’ 

“Well, then, I am ready to answer you, since you de- 
sire it. There is one point upon which I owe you an 
explanation, — the' minority in which I have kept you in 
spite of your father’s weak will. My course in this re- 
spect I think entirely justifiable, for every right-minded 
person who knows you must agree with me that it would 
have been unprincipled in the extreme to leave you to 
yourself at eighteen, inexperienced and immature as you 
were. It was an arbitrary measure on my part, but it 
was well meant, and was the result of an exaggerated 
affection and anxiety for you. The thought that you 
were to live without me, and I without you, was unen- 
durable to me. This is my crime, — this is all that I can 
say. To this gentleman’s charges I answer nothing. 
My life is open to the scrutiny of all, it has been passed 
in unpretending repose, — in the calm pursuit of science, 
and in the delight — now, alas I disturbed indeed — of edu- 
cating you. I regard all your machinations, sir, with 
indifference. Your heated fancy would fail to see the 
truth in my defence of my actions. Only a legal investi- 
gation can satisfy you of my innocence. Why should I 
waste further words upon you?” 

Johannes smiled. “I reserve my answer to the first 
part of your remarks, but with regard to the last I cannot 
refrain from asking you how you can venture to speak 
of innocence after your niece has denied, in my presence, 
the signature of this document to be hers, thus proving 
that it is a forgery ?” 

“Yes, sir, it is certainly a forgery, — no one can deny 
that. But does it follow that I executed it? I had a 
friend in Italy to whom unfortunately I intrusted every 
fact in relation to our family affairs, placing in him a con- 
fidence 1;hat prudence could not warrant, and, in view of 
this present revelation, I cannot but fear that he has 
played the traitor, and, assisted by some unprincipled no- 

34 * 


402 


ONLY A GIRL; 


tary He shrugged his shoulders, as if unwilling to 

complete so grave a charge. 

J ohannes smiled again, almost compassionately. “ Will 
you attempt to support your defence upon such a founda- 
tion? and do you venture to meet me upon this plea 
alone?” 

“I do, sir; for the law will, I trust, shortly discover 
the witnesses of the crime who can testify as to whether 
I or my false friend committed the forgery.” 

Johannes bethought himself for an instant, and then 
said, looking Leuthold directly in the eye, “Is this same 
false friend the purchaser of the factory at Unkenheim? 
Or did you find in Italy what you certainly failed to find 
here, — such wealth of friends?” 

Leuthold’s cheek blanched again, and Johannes saw 
that he had thrust his probe into a deep wound. He 
instantly availed himself of his advantage. “I sup- 
pose that the superintendent at Unkenheim, acquainted 
as he is with your Italian friends, will shortly be able 
to produce the witnesses required for the vindication 
of your innocence, and I will do all that I can to bring 
about this desirable termination of the affair.” Then, 
with a glance at Leuthold, who could scarcely hold up 
his head, “Now, Herr Gleissert, I will give you twenty- 
four hours in which to decide whether you prefer an 
explanation with me or in a court of justice. If by to- 
morrow evening you are not ready to explain matters 
thoroughly with regard to Fraulein von Hartwich’s prop- 
erty, and either to produce the same or, if it is invested 
in the Unkenheim kctory, to give sufficient security for 
it, your fate is sealed. From this hour your house will 
be watched day and night. You are now my prisoner. 
At the slightest attempt to escape, you will be handed 
over to the custody of the law, even although I should 
be forced to deliver you up with my own hands. You 
see I am resolved to proceed to extremities. You have 
nothing to hope for, either from my weakness or your 
cunning, even if a miracle could be worked in your fa- 
vour, and the costly expedient succeed of bribing some 
Italian rogue to personate ‘the false friend,’ to declare 
your crime his own and endure the punishment of it, — 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


403 


even although the notary, who could establish your iden- 
tity and the drawing up of the deed, were dead, — even 
then you could never hope to escape the punishment for 
mail-robbery!’’ 

Leuthold started as if stung. 

“You can hardly accuse of falsehood the sharp eyes 
of a peasant of this place, who can testify that, in default 
of other amusement, you selected for your perusal the 
contents of the village letter-box, retaining in your own 
possession whatever especially interested you.” Johannes 
turned to Ernestine. “I do not know, Fraulein Ernes- 
tine, whether you have done me the honour to write to 
me lately, but, if you have, your uncle probably knows 
the contents of your letter much better than I, who have 
never received it. At all events, this little occurrence, 
for which I can produce witnesses, is a significant illus- 
tration of your uncle’s character. And you, Herr Gleis- 
sert, can now understand that there is no escape for you 
unless you fulfil the conditions upon which alone I will 
spare Fraulein von Hartwich the disgrace of having so 
near a relative occupy a criminal’s cell. You are besejb 
on all sides, — entangled in your own crimes. There is no 
hope for you 1” 

He ceased. Leuthold sat still, pale and mute. Ernes- 
tine looked down at him with compassion. Then she 
glanced at Johannes with admiration bordering on awe. 
“You are, as I have always known you, upright, but 
severe I” 

“Severe? No, by Heaven! The punishment too se- 
vere for this unprincipled man is yet to be devised. My 
imagination is not cruel enough for the task!” He re- 
garded Ernestine mournfully. “ You are worn out, — you 
need repose.” Then he awaited a reply, but none came. 
The setting sun threw its crimson rays across the room. 
Ernestine stood silent, her hands hanging clasped before 
her, exerting all her self-control. Leuthold had propped 
his head upon his hand, and did not stir. Johannes took 
his hat. “Farewell, Ernestine. Permit me to return 
to-morrow to learn your uncle’s final decision.” He 
stepped up to her side. “I will not weary you. Let 
me watch over your destiny. I ask it as the right of 


404 


ONLY A GIRL; 


friendship, — nothing more, — I assure you, — nothing 
more!” 

“Nothing more!” It echoed harshly in Ernestine’s 
heart, and, without a word or a look, with only a cold in- 
clination of the head, she dismissed him. “ He does not 
love me,” she said to herself, and her heart grew like ice. 
He watched over her as a man of honour, not as a lover. 
He knew that she cared for him, — she had not concealed it 
from him ; he had thrust the obstacle to their union be- 
tween them in the shape of his narrow-minded conditions 
— he knew that these were all that separated them, and 
he preferred to relinquish her rather than his own stub- 
born will ! He demanded of her every concession, without 
making any, even the smallest, himself! No, her uncle 
was right, he had never loved her. How could she 
make advances now without proof that she was the ob- 
ject of his love ? How could she humble herself to make 
the required sacrifice, possessed by the terrible doubt that 
he had required it in the full conviction that it would not 
be made ? The least advance on his side, the faintest sign 
that he would yield one jot of the prejudice that separated 
them, would have given her new life and made her happy. 
But from this day their union was impossible, — it was 
not to be thought of. 

Leuthold interrupted her reverie. He had left the room, 
and now returned with a letter. With the air of a man 
resolved upon death, he held it out to his niece. “ Read 
that, and then show me how truly great you are I” 

Ernestine, in surprise, unfolded the letter. It was from 
the superintendent, received the day previous. It con- 
tained the announcement in a few words that the estab- 
lishment was bankrupt and Leuthold ruined. If he did 
not escape by instant flight, he would be overtaken by 
the punishment of bis crime. Ernestine read and re-read 
the letter; she seemed unable to understand it. “ What 
does it mean ?” she asked at last. 

“ It means that Mdllner is right when he calls me 
forger and thief.” 

“ Uncle !” cried Ernestine in the greatest alarm. 

“ The money that is lost in the Unkenheim factory was 
yours ” Leuthold faltered. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


405 


“You have, then, deprived me of my fortune?” she 
asked in a low tone. 

Leuthold stood before her apparently annihilated. 
“Yes I” 

There was silence. Ernestine uttered a low cry and 
recoiled from him. He breathed with difficulty, and con- 
tinued, “I could and would confess nothing to that man. 
There is only one soul on earth magnanimous enough to 
forgive me, and to it alone I will reveal all my weakness. 
Ernestine, I have shown you before, in my love and care 
for you, the reasons that induced me to conceal from you 
the termination of your minority. Did you believe me ?” 

“ I will believe it.” 

“ I never dreamed into what fearful temptation I was 
thereby led. The consequences of what I did were these : 
— I was obliged, in order to conceal the fact of your ma- 
jority from you, to appropriate in your_name the amount 
that was yours when you reached the age of eighteen, 
and this without your knowledge. I did it with the firm 
intention of doing what was best for you. I executed 
the forgery, never dreaming of the punishment that it 
would entail upon me. For months I kept your money 
in my possession, guarding it like the apple of my 03^0. 
Hitherto I had been an honest man, even although, with 
the best intentions, I had transgressed the letter of the 
law. Now, Ernestine, came the turning-point of my life, 
and I implore you to lend a lenient ear to this terrible 
confession. The brother of the Staatsrathin Mbllner was 
just bankrupt, and the Unkenheim factory was advertised 
for sale upon the most favourable conditions. To this 
temptation 1 succumbed. Can you not divine how a man 
is fascinated by the one pursuit to which he has given the 
best years of his life, that is in a certain sense the work 
of his mind and hands? It had been a bitter pain to me 
to relinquish the flourishing business to which 1 had so 
long devoted my best energies, and now it was again in 
the market. Want of knowledge and capacity had ruined 
it. I, who knew every part of it most thoroughly, could 
easily build it up again if I had the means to buy it. I 
resisted a long time, — the advertisement of its sale ap- 
peared a second and a third time. I consulted a mer- 


406 


ONLY A OTRL; 


chant in Naples who was, I heard, on the point of visiting 
Germany. He offered to make the purchase for mein my 
name, — he persuaded me to allow him to do it. The op- 
portunity was so favourable, — the money lay idle in my 
hands, — I was so certain of doubling it, and thus securing 
my own and my poor child’s future, — I knew as surely that 
when you should come to know it, you would never re- 
proach me for thus investing your money. Ten times I 
stood upon your threshold, determined to tell you every- 
thing and entreat your permission to dispose of your prop- 
erty thus. I knew you would not withhold it from me. 
But the insane dread of losing you as soon as you knew 
you were of age always deterred me. I took the money, 
firmly resolved to restore it to the uttermost farthing. This 
is the story of my crime. Now for the tale of my misfor- 
tunes. I failed in what I undertook. I enlarged the fac- 
tory at considerable expense, and suddenh'- unforeseen 
obstacles, in the nature of the soil, presented themselves, 
material that I had purchased at a high price sunk in 
value before it could be manufactured, and I lost fifty per 
cent, in the sale of the finished goods. Such disasters 
as these followed each other in rapid succession There 
was a curse upon everything that I undertook, — the curse, 
I admit it, of an overestimate of my own powers, — for I 
should have known that a clever scholar is not neces- 
sarily a merchant, and that the technical knowledge as a 
chemist which had stood me in such stead in a compara- 
tively small establishment was not business capacity for 
an immense undertaking. But what now avails my re- 
morse, my late confession? Your fortune, Ernestine, has 
been the price of the terrible lesson. I can give you no 
more of it than will pay for your passage to New York, — 
can offer you no indemnification for it but the revenge 
which this frank confession will afford you the means of 
gratifying. Decide ; do with me what you will, — I will 
accept my fate from your hand, but from no other.” 

The hypocrite sank at her feet, as though utterly crushed, 
and pressed the tips of her cold fingers to his lips. 

“Uncle,” began Ernestine, and her voice trembled, 
“stand up! 1 cannot endure the sight of a man before 
whom 1 have been used to stand in awe, grovelling at my 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


40t 


feet like a crushed serpent, whose writhings excite aver- 
sion rather than compassion. Stand up I I pray you 
stand upl^’ She turned from him, that she might no 
longer see him. 

“ Ernestine,” cried Leuthold terrified, “ you are mar- 
ble 1” 

“ I am what you have made me.” 

He had expected a different result from his confession, 
and he watched Ernestine with the greatest anxiety. 
She read the letter once more, and then sank on the sofa 
and buried her face in the cushions. 

“ Ernestine, be composed !” he cried, with a degree of 
his native insolence which could not all be concealed be- 
hind the mask that he had assumed. “ Punish my crime, 
take what revenge you will, but spare me the sight of 
your humiliating despair at the loss of wealth.” 

“ Do you imagine, man of no conscience, that I mourn 
for my lost wealth ?” said Ernestine wrathfully, but with 
dignity. “ If you had asked me honourably for the money 
and then lost it through some misfortune, I would have 
died sooner than have reproached you by a word or a tear. 
But I must despise the only human being in the world 
upon whom I have any claim. All that I have is lost 
through crime, and this passes my endurance. You know 
well what depends upon the shining bits of metal of 
which you have robbed me — freedom of thought and ac- 
tion, — the noblest possessions that life can give. For 
the sake of these you have robbed me, for you are no 
thief to steal money only for the sake of money. You 
know, too, what a loss it is fora woman, — that it entails 
upon her dependence perhaps servitude, — yes, servitude, 
to become a mere machine, obeying unquestioningly 
another’s will, — and this for a soul that would have bowed 
to no power on earth or in heaven, but that rejoiced in its 
pride in being the centre of its own self-created world 1 
And you, knowing how in this thought I die a thousand 
deaths, dare to reproach me with despair at the loss of 
mere wealth ! Look you, I do not forget, even in this 
terrible moment, what you have done for me since my 
childhood, — what an inexhaustible mine of intellectual 
wealth you have revealed to me in exchange for the 


408 


ONLY A GIRL; 


earthly treasure you have taken from me, — and, remember- 
ing this, I renounce the revenge that you offer me. Save 
yourself jf you can, but do not require of me sufficient 
‘greatness of souP to forgive you !” 

Leuthold breathed freely once more. This was all he 
wished to hear, — that she would not deliver him up to 
justice. The worst was over. If she thus in the first 
outburst of her anger rejected the idea of bringing pun- 
ishment upon him, she might, when more composed, be 
brought to connive at and share his flight. 

“ Ernestine,” he said, after a moment of reflection, 
“ every one of your words is like a coal of fire upon my 
guilty head. Even in your righteous indignation you 
are noble and gentle. You tell me I may save myself, 
])ut do you imagine that I can go away without you ? 
Could I endure the thought of you struggling with pov- 
erty, without me to labour for you and to shield you ? 
Have I tended you for all these years with a mother’s 
solicitude, to leave you to 3mur fate now, when you need 
me more than ever ? Girl, if you think thus of me, you 
do me grievous wrong !” Ernestine looked at him in sur- 
prise. 

“Either you fly with me, or I remain and brave the 
worst !” said Leuthold with heroic resolution. 

Ernestine recoiled. “ I go with you I No, I cannot de- 
scend so low, — our paths in life lie, from this moment, far, 
far apart.” 

Leuthold saw her aversion. He was lost if she per- 
sisted in her refusal. For even although he might suc- 
ceed in escaping Mollner’s vigilance for the time, it would 
soon be known abroad that he had embezzled Ernestine’s 
fortune and left her impoverished, and his foe would only 
pursue him all the more obstinately. Ernestine would 
be required by the law to speak, and, truthful as she was, 
there was no doubt that she would expose all his villainy. 
Only by keeping her with him could she be rendered 
harmless; concealment without her was impossible. 

“ You hate me, and it is natural for you to do so,” said 
he. “ I will not recall to you all the time and trouble that 
I have expended upon you since your childhood, — the pa- 
tience with which 1 have endured your caprices, nor the 


OR A PHYSICIAy FOR TEE SOUL. 


409 


love with which, when Heim gave you up, I watched over 
and preserved your life. All this you know, and you believe 
it fully repaid by your magnanimous resolve not to deliver 
up your uncle to a jail. You best know your duty in this 
matter. But, Ernestine, you should not hate me more 
than you do your father, whom you have long since for- 
given, and upon whom you now bestow so much sym- 
pathy, for I can truly affirm that I have dealt more kindly 
by you than he. He was a drunkard, — a man degraded to 
the level of a brute. He did not bring you up ; I have done 
it. He scarcely clothed and fed you. I have surrounded 
j^ou with everything that your heart could desire. He 
always hated you, I have loved you from a child. You 
must remember well how often I protected you from his 
ill treatment, and that once, when I was not by, he 
almost killed you. He never would have provided for 
you as a father should, had he not been driven to it by re- 
morse for his conduct towards you. Two-thirds of the 
property, Ernestine, that he bequeathed to you were 
mine by right. I had earned it in his service. He be- 
queathed it to you, and I acquiesced silently. I resigned 
it without even hinting to you my just claims. I sepa- 
rated myself from my child that she might be educated 
as became her moderate expectations, a sure proof that I 
had no designs upon your wealth. For all this self- 
sacrifice I asked only the delight, the great delight, of 
training to full perfection a young mind, — such a mind 
as no woman was ever before possessed of. You can 
bear me witness that I have taught you nothing evil, — 
that I have opened your eyes to the good and the 
beautiful, helping you to decipher the book of nature, 
where only what can elevate the mind is to be found. 
You can comprehend, by the aversion with which you 
now regard your fallen teacher, how pure his teachings 
have preserved j^our heart. I ask you to reflect, Ernes- 
tine, whether all this does not give me at least the same 
claim upon your sympathy as that which you now yield 
to your father.’^ 

Ernestine listened with increasing emotion and sym- 
pathv. She buried her face in the cushions of the sofa, 
and burst into tears. 


36 


410 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Lenthold regarded her with satisfaction. Tie knew 
that the woman who weeps 3 nelds. lie continued. “ You 
have convinced me that 1 have nothing to fear from \'our 
hatred. You have told me that you renounce your re- 
venge, and a nature like yours performs what it prom- 
ises. 13ut, Ernestine, this does not content me. My tor- 
tured conscience cannot rest until you permit me to take 
charge of your future. Let me at least try to atone for 
my crime. Grant me this alleviation of the burden that 
weighs me to the earth. Pity me, and allow me the only 
expiation that is possible for me I” 

“What shall 1 do, then?” asked Ernestine in broken 
accents. 

“Go with me, my child, that I may share with you the 
bread that I earn, — that I may open such a future to you 
as you could never enjoy in Germany. You have just 
signed a brilliant engagement; you cannot break it now, 
ju!-t when you need a means of support. It would be 
madness to reject what offers you a position commensurate 
with your ability. But you can never occupy it satisfac- 
torily without my aid. You well know how indispen- 
sable 1 am to you in every new undertaking. You must 
pursue fresh studies. Not for the world must you allow 
a flaw to be found in your acquirements on the other side 
of the water. Hate me, despise me, if you will, but con- 
sent to avail yourself of my protection on the long voyage 
to New York. Trust me, I detest sentimentality, as you 
know, but it is hard to bury one of your kin before he is 
dead. You will find it harder than you think. One 
cannot tear one’s self loose in a moment from the memory 
of hours, days, and years spent together striving for a 
common aim, and the buried companion will knock upon 
his coffin-lid when such memories arise.” He paused. 
Ernestine’s short, quick breathing showed what a struggle 
was going on within her. At last she shook her head, 
sprang up, and walked undecidedly to and fro. 

Lenthold continued, “You cannot help it, — you must 
go with me, — what else can you do? Reflect, what 
course can 3 ’ou adopt if you remain here?” 

“1 do not know,” she murmured gloomily in a low 
tone. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


411 


“ There are none here to whom you could turn, except 
the Mdllners ” 

Ernestine added, “And old Dr. Heim.” 

“Yes, Heim and the Mdllners are like one family. 
Naturally, they would all do what they could for you. 
Heim would exult greatly in the fulfilment of his prophe^ 
cies.” 

Ernestine bit her lip. 

“ To be sure, after what has occurred, you may safely 
look to them for the means of support. Perhaps they 
may find you a place as a governess, if they should be- 
come tired of you. But the question is whether that 
would not be a deeper humiliation than going abroad 
with me. Good heavens ! in this world you must call 
many a one comrade whose conscience is far from clear, 
and whom you must not ask for a certificate of character. 
Let your uncle be to you one of these. I will not intrude 
upon you, — will not enter your presence, if you do not 
desire it.” 

He waited for an answer. Ernestine’s eyes were fixed 
broodingly upon the ground. 

“Or possibly you would rather reconsider your deter- 
mination, and go to the Frau Staatsrathin and beg to be 
forgiven. I fear, — I greatly fear, — the prudent mother 
would say, ‘Aha, she was haughty enough as long as she 
had plenty of money, but, now that it has all gone, she 
grows humble and is quite willing to ask for shelter and 
countenance. She asks for bread now that she is hungry. 
The most savage brutes are tamed by hunger, — when 
its pangs are keen the heart is weak.’ ” 

“ Hush, uncle I oh, hush !” cried Ernestine with a 
shudder. 

But Leuthold was not to be silenced. He was in his 
element again. “That is what the supercilious mother 
would say, for these intellectual aristocrats are filled with 
the pride of independence, and exact it from others. And 
the Herr Professor? Naturally, he would feel it doubly 
his duty to marry you and cherish the starving woman. 
But when the first enthusiasm of sympathy was past, 
what, think you,, Ernestine, wculd be his reflections in 
cooler moments ?” 


412 


ONLY A GIRL: 


“ He would say, ‘ Necessity made her my wife, — not 
love.’ ” 

“ ‘ And why should I give love in return V ” Leuthold 
completed the thought. 

“ Or even esteem,” Ernestine added with a spasmodic 
shiver. “No, no I it shall not come to that. I will not 
sink so low. Noble and true as he is, he shall not accuse 
me of such selfishness. His proud, suspicious mother 
shall not find me a beggar at her door, — rather a grave in 
mid-ocean!” She drew near to Leuthold. Her breath 
came in gasps, her pulses throbbed. “ Uncle, you have 
destroyed my happiness in life, help me to preserve all 
that is left for me, — my self-respect I” 

“Then come with me. Not until the ocean rolls be- 
tween you and this man can you be secure from your own 
weakness.” 

Ernestine sank down exhausted. “So be it! You 
have conquered!” 


CHAPTER Y. 

SCIENCE AND FAITH. 

The dawning day strove in vain to lift the misty veil 
that a rainy night had spread over hill and dale. It was 
one of those mornings when the waning summer — like a 
belle whose charms are of the past in her morning dis- 
habille — showed plainly that its glories were fading. 
The rising sun crept behind the cold, misty clouds, and 
the bushes were dripping with tears of regret. The 
faithful watcher, who had stood on guard all night near 
the castle, shook the wet from his cloak and shivered 
as be looked in the direction of the school-house, whence 
relief was to arrive. 

He did not wait long. The powerful figure of a young 
man appeared briskly advancing through the mist. Slowly 
and sleepily the clock in tbe tower of the village church 
tolled half-past four. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 4I3 


“To a moment I’^ cried the watcher to the new arrival. 
“ This is punctuality indeed 

“Good-morning!’’ said Walter. “Brr! the air is cold. 
You must be almost frozen.” 

“Not more so than the huntsman on the watch,” re- 
plied Johannes. “Ardour for the chase makes him warm. 
I burn and long to clutch that beast of prey up there. 
Oh, Walter, I am not easily roused, — ray nature is a quiet 
one, — but if that man had tried to slip away in the night, 
and had fallen into my hands, I could not have answered 
for the consequences.” 

“ I do not wonder at you,” laughed Walter. “Nothing 
would gratify me more than a chance at the fellow. How 
did you spend the night ? Could you not sit down ?” 

“No, I was not calm enough to do anything but pace 
to and fro, and now it is beginning to tell upon my 
wearied limbs.” 

“ Make haste, then, and get dry and warm. My father 
is impatiently expecting you. He is up and dressed, 
and my mother has a good cup of coffee waiting for 
you.” 

“ How kind you all are I” said Johannes. “ But I am 
very anxious, Walter. Gleissert was with Ernestine until 
midnight. From the hill yonder I could see their heads 
through the window. They appeared to be in eager con- 
versation, and moved about, as if they were packing. Oh, 
if she can possibly intend ” 

“ Do not be in the least alarmed, — she cannot, after 
what you have told her.” 

“But how, after what I have told her, can she endure 
that man about her for hours ? How can she breathe the 
air of the room where he is, for even ten minutes ?” 

“ Hm — it does seem incredible. But, whatever happens, 
we have nothing to do but to watch and be ready. 1 will 
do my duty in this respect. Go, now, and rest for a 
couple of hours, that you may relieve me at school-time. 
Had you only allowed me to watch in your place, he 
would have found me as difficult as you to deal with.” 

“You help me enough by assisting me during the 
day. Good-by, then. I shall be tack at eight o’clock.” 

36 * 


414 


ONLY A GIRL; 


And Johannes walked slowly and wearily towards the 
school-house. When he entered the low, dimly-lighted 
room, he found the steaming coffee-pot already upon the 
table. Frau Leonhardt had seen him coming, and all was 
in readiness for him. 

Herr Leonhardt sat in his place by the stove, and held 
out his hand with a kind but anxious “ Good-morning I 
How are you after your unwonted duty through the 
night?” 

“ Tolerably, old friend,” replied Johannes, “ but I can- 
not deny that my respect has considerably increased since 
yesterday for the honourable guild of watchmen. — No, 
thank you, Frau Leonhardt, I cannot eat anything.” 

“ Oh, do not drink your coffee without a morsel of 
something solid. Well, if you do not wish it — but, you 
see, here it is I” 

“ Yes, my dear Frau Leonhardt, I see it,” Johannes as- 
sured her, with a smiling glance at the great basketful of 
biscuits. 

“ You must know that my Brigitta was up half the 
night to prepare her most tempting biscuits for your 
breakfast, — it is all she could do for you. Yes, Brigitta, 
the Herr Professor can appreciate your good will.” 

“ Indeed I can,” said Johannes. “ Such womanly 
kindness is dear to me wherever I meet with it. Your 
labour shall not be in vain.” And he forced himself 
to eat. 

“ Oh,” said Brigitta, ‘Mf the Fraulein had known that 
you were walking up and down beneath her windows in 
the cold night, she would have been grieved enough, and 
filled with pity !” 

“The Fraulein knows no pity, my dear Frau Leon- 
hardt,” said Johannes bitterly. 

The old man laid his hand kindly upon Johannes^ 
shoulder. “You do not mean what you say. You cannot 
think so meanly of her— your impatience speaks now, 
not you. If you could only understand her noble nature 
as I do, who am not blinded by passion !” 

“ But, Father Leonhardt, I do not deny Ernestine’s noble 
nature. Should I devote myself to her as I am now doino* 
after her rejection of me, if I did not know her to be more 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


415 


than worthy of all that I can do ? But if you could 
have seen her rigid, marble face yesterday, you would 
have questioned, as 1 did, whether that young girl really 
possessed a heart.” 

“Indeed, indeed she does possess one,” affirmed the old 
man. “ But remember, Herr Professor, her heart has hith- 
erto been fed solely through her understanding. She has 
had nothing to love but ideas. Human beings she has 
known nothing of. What wonder, then, if she imagines that 
she should love only where her intellect can say Amen ? 
That Amen cannot be said in your case, for you have 
opposed all that has hitherto had the warrant of her 
intellect, which must needs be in arms against you, 
and the oppressed young heart must mutely acquiesce. 
Ernestine’s intellect is that of a full-grown man, while 
her sensibilities are as undeveloped as those of a girl of 
fifteen. The consequence is that incessant contradic- 
tions appear in her conduct. Give these undeveloped 
sensibilities time, do not stunt them by coldness, and 
you will see them assert their rights in opposition to the 
intellect. She might almost be called a kind of Caspar 
Hauser in the world of sentiment. She is not at home 
there. She needs a patient teacher, and such a one she 
will find in you, I am sure. Do all that you can to pre- 
vent her from going to America ; if she goes, she is as 
good as dead for us.” 

“ Rely upon me, faithful and wise old friend,” cried 
Johannes, and fresh resolution was depicted on his face. 
“ I will do all that I can for her, — not for my own sake, 
but for hers.” 

“ If you have finished your breakfast, you must take 
some rest,” said Leonhardt. “My wife has arranged a 
bed for you.” 

“I accept your kindness gratefully,” replied Johannes, 
“ for I am exhausted, and have a fatiguing day before me.” 

“Then let me show you to your room. That service 
even a blind man can render you,” said the old man with 
a smile. 

And the two ascended to the upper story, where Herr 
Leonhardt opened a door and showed his guest into a scru- 
pulously neat little apartment, containing a most inviting 


416 


ONLY A OIRL; 


bed. Then he groped about, assuring himself that all 
was as it should be, and returned to the room below, say- 
ing, as he closed the door, “ Take a good sleep, — you may 
need the strength it will give you.” 

“ Thanks, a thousand thanks. Father Leonhardtl” Jo- 
hannes cried after him, and he listened to the careful 
tread of his kind host upon the narrow stairway. Then 
his eyes closed. Frau Brigitta’s words sounded in his 
ears, “ If the Fraulein had known that you were walking 
up and down beneath her windows in the cold night ” 

She must have known it. He had told her plainly 
enough that he should do so, and she had not even opened 
a window or looked out at him. But stay, — stay I She 
would come out to him herself See ! see 1 The gate 
opened softly. Was her uncle with her ? No I She was 
alone, — quite alone I “ Come,” she whispered, “ you are 
cold. Come in.” And she took his hands and breathed 
upon them and rubbed them. “ Will you not come into 
the house ?” she asked. “ There you can watch for my 
uncle and be out of the rain, and I wifi stay with you 
and never, never leave you.” 

“ Ernestine,” cried Johannes, stretching out his arms to 
embrace her. The sudden motion awoke him, and he 
found himself alone. He could not have slept more than 
a quarter of an hour, and yet he could not go to sleep 
again. He lay quietly resting for a time, and then arose, 
prepared to go through with tbe decisive day that awaited 
him. 

Evening had come. As on the previous day, Ernestine 
was sitting at her writing-table, but it was empty now. 
Its contents were packed up in the chests which were 
standing in the room, locked and ready for the voyage. 
Ernestine sat idly, with her hands in her lap, listening 
to her uncle’s directions to the weeping housekeeper in 
reference to the price at which she was to dispose of the 
furniture of the house. 

“ The scientific works and the apparatus I shall leave 
to Walter Leonhardt,” she said. 

“ What I” cried Leuthold. “Are you going to give away 
at least a thousand thalers ?” He paused, with a glance 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


417 


at Frau Willmers, who had the tact to leave the room. 
“ Why throw money out of the window, now that we are 
beggared ?’’ , 

“ The thousand thalers that the things would bring 
would not keep me from starving, while they will secure 
the young man’s future. He has talents that must not 
run to waste, and which I can foster by giving him the 
means of pursuing his studies.” 

“Is it possible? You think it your duty, then, to 
foster all neglected genius ?” 

“Uncle,” said Ernestine with cold severity, “I pray 
you spare me your opinion of my conduct. The habit 
of submission, it appears, is more easily discarded than 
that of ruling. I have cast aside the former, since yes- 
terday, like a garment. It would be well for you to do 
the same with the latter.” 

“ But I thought I might at least be suffered to advise,” 
observed Leuthold. 

“ I will ask your advice when I think it necessary. 
In this matter it is enough that I choose to do as I have 
said.” 

Leuthold regarded her immovable features with a mix- 
ture of fear and hatred, and thought to himself, “ Once 
let me get you on the other side of the water, and in my 
power, and you shall atone bitterly for all the trouble 
that you give me now.” 

And his restless fancy painted vividly before his mind’s 
eye the revenge that awaited him in that new world, 
and an ugly smile was upon his lips as he thought of all 
that his niece’s proud nature would have to endure. 

Ernestine arose. “There are only a few hours left be- 
fore our departure,” she said. “I must be sure that my 
intentions will be carried out.” 

She went into her laboratory, and packed up, as well 
as she could, the apparatus that she designed for Walter. 
Then she reopened the letter that she was to leave with 
Willmers for Leonhardt, and added these words, “Come 
what may, I pray you preserve these books and instru- 
ments for me as relics. Say they are yours, or they will 
be snatched from you and from me.” 

Thus she made her gift secure from the clutches of the 


418 


ONLY A GIRL; 


law. She knew Leuthold well enough to feel sure that 
he would not seek to prevent its removal from the house 
if he could not keep it for his niece. Then she sent off 
the chests from the laboratory, and went into the library 
to select the books that Walter was to have. Leuthold 
hurried in, and said to her, “Mollner is coming 1 Now, 
Ernestine, summon up all your resolution I’^ His teeth 
fairly chattered with agitation. “ Be strong, Ernestine. 
A human life is at stake I If you do not save me from 
Mollner’s revenge and from the law, I am a dead man! 
By the life of my child, — dearer to me than aught else on 
earth, — I swear to you that 1 wiH commit suicide sooner 
than put on a convict’s jacket 1 Now act accordingly.” 

Ernestine gazed at him with horror. At last he was 
speaking the truth! Sheer, blank despair was painted 
on his features. 

“Uncle,” she cried, “be calm I I will not drive you 
to suicide ! My resolve is firm. Will you not be present?” 

“ No, that would make mischief. I will get everything 
ready for our departure, that nothing may detain us. Do 
not forget. We are reconciled, — do you hear ? Will you 
tell him so ?” 

“ I promise you.” 

“ I will go. I will not meet him. Bless you for every 
kind word, and curses upon you if you should betray me.” 

He hurried away, and Ernestine looked after him with 
a shudder. A human life hung upon her lips! A curse 
awaited every thoughtless word that she might utter! 
She stood alone and helpless, burdened thus heavily, a 
young, inexperienced creature, scarcely able to bear the 
responsibility of her own actions. She spurred on her 
fainting energies to accomplish the almost superhuman 
task allotted to her. 

Her dreaded visitor entered. 

“Forgive me, Ernestine,” he said, “for thus intruding 
unannounced. Your housekeeper directed me hither. 
This is no time for empty formalities. It is time for ac- 
tion, and, if need be, for a life-and-death struggle. I 
have just seen the chests sent off to Herr Leonhardt. I 
learn from Frau Willmers that you are going, — really 
going, — with your uncle. Ernestine, I have no words 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


419 


for the anguish that I am now enduring I I could submit 
to your rejection of my suit, for I might still love you, 
but to find you unworthy of my love, Ernestine, would 
be more than I can bear.’’ 

“And what could so degrade me in your eyes ?” asked 
Ernestine with offended pride. 

“ Your not fleeing from such a villain, as from the Evil 
One himself, — your harbouring the intention of going forth 
into the world with one abhorred alike of God and man, 
not feeling sufiQcient detestation of the crime to induce you 
to avoid the criminal who must be shunned by every 
honest man. Oh, Ernestine, I cannot believe it now! I 
would rather die than believe it!” 

“ He has excused himself in my eyes,” said Ernestine, 
deeply wounded. “ He has convinced me that no human 
being should condemn another unheard. I am not con- 
scious of such perfection and infallibility in myself as 
would permit me to dare to judge and denounce. That 
must be left for those better and stronger than I. The 
tie that bound me to him is, it is true, broken, but I must 
tread the same path that be treads. I cannot refuse to 
share his wanderings.” 

“ Do you not fear the disgrace that will attach to you 
by thus ioining your lot with that of a criminal, amenable 
to the law ?” 

“ The law has no power over him. He has satisfied me 
with regard to my property, and, if I am content, it is 
enough.” 

“ Good heavens I What security has he offered you ? 
You are so inexperienced in such matters, he wHl deceive 
you again. Tell me, at least, what he has told you.” 

Ernestine stood more erect. Agitation almost choked 
her utterance, and, to conceal it, she put on a colder, sterner 
manner than usual. “When I tell you I am satisfied, it 
seepis to me that should content you.” 

“ Ernestine,” cried Johannes, “ why do you adopt this 
tone with me ? I am acting and thinking only for you 
and your interest, and you treat me like a foe.” 

“ For all that you have done and are doing for me, I 
am grateful to you, as also for your kind intentions. But 
now, I pray you, leave to me all care for my future fate. I 
feel fully competent to direct it.” 


420 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ I tell you, Ernestine, that, whether you will it or not, 
I must snatch you from the abyss upon whose brink you 
are tottering. And first I will make sure of your com- 
panion. He has not given me the securities for your 
property that I required, the respite that I allowed him 
is past, the twenty-four hours for reflection have gone.’^ 
He turned towards the door. 

“ Dr. Mbllner, what are you about to do cried 
Ernestine. 

“Give him up to justice.” 

Ernestine placed herself in his way. “ You must not 
do that !” 

“And why not ?” 

“ You will not attempt to avenge what I have forgiven. 
You will not so intrude into my life as to make it impos- 
sible for me to decide whether I will punish or forgive a 
crime that affects me alone. You are about to publish 
abroad my affairs, and I demand for myself the right to 
regulate my own private affairs as it may seem to me 
best. I cannot allow a stranger — yes, I say, a stranger — 
to meddle thus with the concerns of two human beings, as 
if he were an emissary of the Holy Vehm I” 

“ Ernestine I” gasped Johannes. 

“ I repeat it,” she continued, “ I am grateful for your 
kind intentions. But the best intentions result in unwel- 
come violence when they would rob a human being of 
the right of free choice. I insist upon this most sacred 
of all rights, and forbid you any further interference with 
my fate, and, as my uncle’s lot is so closely allied to mine 
that in striking him you would harm me, I hope you are 
sufiBciently chivalric to desist from further persecution of 
him.” Almost fainting, she leaned against the door. 

“ Fraulein von Hartwich,” replied Johannes, controlling 
himself with difficulty, “ you propose a hard trial for my 
patience. But I can forgive you, for you are a true 
woman.” Ernestine started at these words, but he en- 
treated silence by a gesture. “ You are a woman, and, as 
such, easily aroused, easily deceived. Your uncle has 
taken advantage of this fact. You do not dream what 
you are doing in following the fortunes of this bad man. 
I thought I had opened your eyes yesterday, but I was 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOB THE SOUL. 


421 


mistaken. You saw, but I did not teach you to under- 
stand what you saw. I will retrieve my error. I will 
explain to you the motives for your uncle’s course of action. ” 

“ 1 have already told you,” replied Ernestine, “ that I 
know them. I need no further explanation. He has sinned, 
grievously sinned, — who can deny it? Not he himself. 
But his life has been dedicated to me with a devotion rare 
enough in our selfish world. He has lived for me ever 
since 1 was a child, and all his errors sprang from the 
dread of losing me. This is, perhaps, incredible to you, 
because from your point of view it is inconceivable that a 
man should entirely give himself up to the training of a 
woman’s mind. To you a life spent solely in intellectual 
association with a woman seems impossible, and of course 
you would accuse of falsehood a man who professes to 
prefer such a life to all others. Therefore I know before- 
hand all you would say, and would be spared the listening 
to it now.” 

“ Ernestine,” cried Johannes, fairly roused, “ you must 
hear me, or, by Heaven, I do not know you !” 

He paused for one moment. Ernestine looked down, and 
apparently awaited what he had to say. 

“ Yes, then, yes, — you are perfectly right. It does seem 
to me an impossibility that a man should make it the sole 
aim of his existence to develop the intellect of a woman. 
I can love as deeply as man can love. You know that I 
love you, and, were you mine, I would adore you, and you 
only, with my whole heart and soul, truly and unchange- 
ably, until death separated us. But, in my love for you, 
to forego all other interests and duties in life, to idle away 
in delicious intercourse with you all opportunities for true 
manly exertion, — that I could not do, truly and warmly 
as I love you. It would be the part of a woman, — not of 
a man, who has public as well as private duties to fulfil. I 
have no confidence in a man who pretends to lead such a 
life out of simple affection for a relative. He must have 
some other purpose in view, and I believe that your 
uncle’s purpose in this matter was a detestable one, lead- 
ing him to sin against you in a way that God alone can 
justly punish. He would sacrifice everything for money 

he would murder alike body and soul. Stay — be calm 

36 


422 


ONLY A GIRL; 


for a few moments. I will justify these terrible accusations. 
The theft of your fortune has been the purpose that he 
has kept steadily in view ever since he was your guardian. 
The possession of this property seems to have been the 
fixed idea of his life, for he induced your father at one time 
to bequeath it to him, leaving you, notwithstanding his 
boJisted affection for you, only what the law accords to 
you. Heim prevailed upon your father to destroy this 
will and to reinstate you in your rights. But he was 
not sufficiently prudent, for the will that your father then 
dictated left too much margin for your uncle’s administra- 
tion. He longed to recover what he had lost, and circum- 
stances favoured his desire. Your father, in his will, as 
you can see from this copy of it, stated that in case of 
your dying unmarried your entire fortune should go to 
Gleissert or his children. When your father died, mat- 
ters looked propitious for Leuthold, for little Ernestine 
was such a frail, sickly child that he cherished a hope 
almost amounting to a certainty that the delicate cord of 
life that kept him from his inheritance would soon break, 
and give him all that he coveted. But the pale, quiet 
child confounded his plans by recovering her health and 
strength. Hers was arare nature, and recuperated quickly, 
both physically and mentally. The hope that she would 
die grew fainter and fainter, but he could not so easily 
relinquish the prospect of possessing her fortune. If he 
might not secure the inheritance, he could at least secure 
the person of the heir, and contrive to keep you, Ernestine, 
from marrying, since the money could be his only in the 
event of your dying single. To this end, you must be 
secluded h’om the world, and, that you might not miss its 
amusements, your restless spirit must be introduced to a 
new realm, — the realm of the intellect. Therefore he 
studiously concealed from you your coming of age, lest it 
should occur to you to break the bonds of the strict control 
to which you were subjected, and mingle with your kind. 
This was the plan of your education, this the reason of 
your uncle’s tender solicitude for you. The time and 
trouble expended upon you were all in the way of busi- 
ness, a fair exchange for the ninety thousand thalers and 
the contingent advantages that he trusted to obtain there- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


423 


bj. He could never have attained such a competency as 
a German professor. This is criminal legacy-hunting. 
And now for my accusation of murder. I do not mean 
by it a murder with poison or dagger, — he is too cowardly 
and too prudent for that, — but he made use of a poison 
which, if it were not as quick in its effects as arsenic, at 
least possessed this advantage over it — no chemist could 
detect it, and no law punish its use. The body was to be 
destroyed through the mind. He knew how to foster in 
your passionate heart an ambition that dreaded no labour, 
that, in its burning desire to attain its ends, pursued them 
with a feverish haste that never heeded whether the 
physical frame were equal or not to such unceasing exer- 
tion. Oh, the plan was ingenious, but there were eyes, 
thank God! that saw through it. It is true he did not 
stand at your back with a rod, like a severe schoolmaster, 
to urge you on, — he did not compel you to work all 
night long, denying yourself the only refreshment that 
could strengthen your shattered nerves, — sleep, — but he 
contrived that you should do all this voluntarily. He saw 
you droop, and took no notice of it. He would not kill 
you with his own hand, but he put into yours the poison 
with which you should do it yourself, and, when the 
natural love of life in you spoke out and entreated aid, 
he forbade you to summon a physician, lest he should save 
you by an antidote I Thus, consciously and voluntarily, 
he has let you sicken and languish, and now he would 
carry you to America to bury you there. So much for 
the grounds of my accusation of physical murder. 
And now as to his murder of your soul. I said before 
that your uncle had secluded you from the world to make 
sure of your never marrying. How could he do this ? 
By making you an object of aversion to society at large 
— by hardening your heart, so that you might never feel 
the desire for loving intercourse and companionship stir- 
ring within you. He accomplished these ends by making 
you a skeptic. And were this the only crime that he 
is guilty of towards you, it would justify any punish- 
ment, however severe, — any contempt, however pro- 
found.” 

“ If this is all that you have to say, I can only reply that 


424 


ONLY A GIRL; 


you talk like a theologian, not like a physiologist,” said 
Ernestine, vainly endeavouring to conceal her horror. “ It 
is possible that there is some foundation for your other 
accusations of Doctor Gleissert, — I will not decide upon 
them at present, — but for this last there is none, or, at 
least, none in the degree that you mean. Yes, he did take 
from me my faith, biit in its place he gave me that phi- 
losophy which is the resting-place of all thought, and 
wherein alone the doubting spirit can find peace.” 

“ Oh, what a miserable mistake !” cried Johannes. “ Do 
you suppose that anything can take the place of faith in 
the world ? Can a soul as lofty as your own be content 
with the mere knowledge of the laws that rule the uni- 
verse, without raising reverential eyes to the Power 
whom those laws represent? Forgive me if I talk like a 
theologian. Let me be clear with you upon this point 
too, before we part. I would at least restore to you one 
possession of which your uncle has robbed you, and that 
belongs to women in an eminent degree, far more than 
to men, — ^the power of seeing heaven open when the 
earth does not suffice us !” 

Ernestine gazed at him in utter amazement. “ Do you 
speak thus, you, a man of exact science, — a science that 
teaches how everything in existence is developed from 
itself! What is left for us to reverence in the God whom 
you would seem to declare, after we have learned that 
nature of itself alone creates and achieves everything ?” 

Johannes shook his head. “ Oh, Ernestine, can we be- 
lieve in Him only by believing that his Spirit hovered 
over the face of the waters and created the heavens and 
the earth in six days ? I think we have learned to 
separate this gross material representation from the 
actual being of God ! Thus only can faith and knowl- 
edge join hands, and I am one of those in whose minds 
they have thus formed an alliance, although perhaps not 
without a struggle. I can give my belief no concrete 
shape, I have not the simplicity that is satisfied with a 
Deity compounded of human attributes and powers, but 
the fervent aspiration that looks up and holds fast to my 
formless God, — this aspiration is my rock of safety.” 

“ That is only a subjective emotion. What does it 
prove ?” 


OR A PHYSIO IAN FOR THE SOUL. 


425 


“Nothing 1” said Johannes. “For the existence of a 
God can be as little proved as disproved. I might 
say He is to the world what the soul is to the body, 
and we cannot give form to the soul in our minds. The 
organs of the body work in obedience to unchangeable 
laws, but, although they thus work, they are under the 
control of the soul, and, although we can explain never 
so exactly the mechanism that the soul puts in motion 
at its good pleasure, we cannot explain how it thinks 
and desires. Are we therefore to deny that it does think 
and desire ? But I know what little value will attach to 
such comparisons in your eyes, for you will demand logi- 
cal proof of the truth of my parallel, and this 1 cannot 
give you.” 

Ernestine was lost in thought. “ I never should have 
conceived it possible that such a man as you are could 
believe in the existence of a God 1” 

“ If you will listen, I will tell you how faith first en- 
tered into my heart. I was a wayward lad, just emanci- 
pated from the ignorant illusions of childhood, with a 
living desire for the Infinite in my heart, — longing to 
prove scientifically the existence of the God in whom I 
no longer believed. In my ignorance of myself, I 
naturally fell into the way of that spurious philoso- 
phy which the science of to-day looks back upon with 
contempt, and — to use Du Bois’ words — racked my 
brain for awhile over the riddle of Being, human and 
divine. My affections were warm, — I loved those be- 
longing to me, and especially my little sister Angelika. 
One day the child was taken dangerously ill, and, as 
she was more devoted to me than to any other mem- 
ber of the family, I watched with her through long 
nights with fraternal tenderness. The child suffered 
greatly, and one night in particular her cries fairly broke 
my heart. My mother at last took her little hands in her 
own, clasped them, and said, ‘ Pray, my darling, — pray 
to God. He may grant your prayer!^ And the child, 
suppressing her sobs, cried, ‘ Ah, dear God, take away 
my pain I’ And I — I flung myself upon my knees and 
prayed fervently, I knew not what, — I knew not to whom, 
— no matter I I prayed. I heard my mother’s voice say 

36* 


426 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Amon, and I repeated Amen, — almost unconsciously. 
The child was soothed, grew calm, looked up to heaven 
with childlike trust, then smiled upon us and went to sleep 
with her head upon my breast, — her first sound sleep after 
a week of sufiering. I listened to her breathing, it was 
soft and regular, I was filled then with an emotion such as 
I had never before experienced, — tears came to my eyes. 
I could have embraced the world in my delight, — no, a 
world would not suffice me, I needed a God beside. 
What shall I say, — how explain it in words? Like the 
girl born blind, in the poem, that believed she saw when 
she loved, I loved the God to whom I had prayed, and 
because 1 loved Him I saw Him with my heart!” 

He paused, and looked at Ernestine, who had listened 
with sympathy. 

“ That is the very essence of faith,” he continued. “No 
reason can give it to you or take it from you. One single 
agonized moment taught me what science and philosophy 
had failed to teach. I found by the bedside of a child 
the God for whom my intellect had vainly searched earth 
and skies. From this time I learned to keep myself 
open to conviction. I now first became an exact phys- 
iologist. I no longer set fantastic bounds to science, I 
no longer adulterated my pure contemplation of nature 
with metaphysical notions, but confined myself strictly 
to the actual, and it never conflicted with my feelings, 
for Science itself pauses before the first cause of all Being, 
and says, ‘Thus far, and no farther,’ and here, where my 
knowledge ceases, my faith begins 1” 

“ You speak well, but you do not convince me,” said 
Ernestine sadly. 

“ I see. I Know that the remedy for your disease does 
not lie in the words or the example of others, but in your 
own experience. I prophesy, if you are ever overwhelmed 
by a moment of despair, that you will waken to the need 
of that God whom you now ignore. Even were it not 
to be so, I could only pity you, for a woman who cannot 
pray is a bird with broken wings. I maintain that 
there is no woman who does not believe, — for there is 
none who does not fear, and fear looks in reverence to 
God, whether as avenging justice or protecting love, to 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


427 

which to flee when all other aid fails. Can you be the 
sole exception to this rule 

“ I hope so,” said Ernestine proudly. “ I am not one 
of those weaklings who dread danger in the dark. I 
look every phantom of terror boldly in the face, and can 
recognize its natural origin. I fear nothing, and have no 
need of a God.” 

“ You fear nothing?” asked Johannes, and then, struck 
by a sudden thought, added, “ Not even death ?” 

‘'Not even death! I know that I am but a part of 
universal matter, and must return to it again. What is 
there to fear? The dissolution of a personal existence in 
the great sum of things, — the transformation of one sub- 
stance into another? Since I learned to think, 1 have 
constantly pondered this great law of nature, and have 
accustomed myself to consider my insignificant existence 
only as part and parcel of the wondrous transmutation 
of matter perpetually taking place in the universe. Only 
when we have attained this conviction can we smilingly 
renounce our vain claim to individual immortality, and 
see in death the due tribute that we pay to nature for our 
life.” 

“ Indeed ? And you imagine that this consolation will 
stand you in stead when the time really comes for you to 
descend into that dark abyss which is illuminated for you 
by no ray of faith or hope ?” 

“ I am sure of it.” 

“And if you were plunged into it before the appointed 
time?” 

“ I should not quarrel with the measure of existence 
that nature accorded me.” 

“You would not, however, curtail that existence inten- 
tionally?” 

Ernestine looked at him in surprise. “ No, assuredly 
not.” 

“ Are you not afraid of doing so by going to America ?” 

“Why should I fear it? — on account of the dangers of 
the sea, perhaps? Oh, no. It has borne millions of lives 
in safety upon its waves, — why not mine also? It will 
be more merciful than my kind, I think.” 


428 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ Then you are still determined to go, after all that I 
have told you of your uncle 

“ With him or without him, I shall go,” said Ernestine. 

“ Well, then, God is my witness that I have tried my 
best I Now, — you will think me cruel, but I cannot 
help it, — one remedy still is left me, — a terrible one, but 
your proud courage gives me strength to use it. Ernes- 
tine, if you persist in your determination to undertake 
this voyage, I fear the time is close at hand when the 
genuineness of your philosophical consolation will be 
tried indeed. You will hardly live to reach New York.” 

Ernestine grew, if possible, paler than before at these 
words. “ What reason have you to say so ?” she fal- 
tered. 

“ I will tell you, for there is no time left for conceal- 
ment.” He looked at the clock. “I cannot understand 
how, with your understanding and the knowledge that 
you possess, you should fail to see that you are ill, — not 
only nervous and prostrated, but seriously ill.” 

Ernestine looked at him in alarm. 

“ I am firmly convinced that you are lost if you con- 
tinue your present mode of life, as you will and must in 
America. Notwithstanding all your uncle may have told 
you, I know that, once in New York, you will have no 
chance of recovering from him one thaler of your fortune, 
even supposing that, in accordance with your wishes, I 
allow him to leave this country. You will be forced to 
earn your daily support, and, 1 tell you truly, your life, 
under such conditions, will not last one year. You will 
die in your bloom in an American hospital, and be buried 
in a nameless gravel” 

Ernestine turned away. 

“Are you still determined to go?” Johannes asked 
after a pause. 

Ernestine pondered for one moment of bitter agony. 
She knew only too well that he was right. But what 
should she do? He had no idea that her fortune was 
actually lost, — that she would be forced to earn her bread 
if she stayed as surely as if she went, — that she must 
labour incessantly, if she would not be a dependent 
beggar. Think and reflect as she might, she saw 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


429 


nothing before her but death in a hospital 1 And she 
would far rather perish in a foreign land than here, where 
all knew her, and where all would triumph over her 
downfall, that they had prophesied so often. No! she 
must fly 1 Like the dying bird in winter, hiding himself 
in his death-agony from every eye, she would conceal, in 
a distant quarter of the globe, her poverty, her degrada- 
tion and disgrace, from the arrogant man of whom she 
had been so haughtily independent in the day of her 
prosperity. 

At last she raised her head, and, with a great effort, 
said, “There is no choice left me. I must fulfll my con- 
tract, — I must go to America!” 

Johannes had awaited her decision with breathless 
eagerness. He lost almost entirely his hardly-won self- 
control. “Ernestine,” he exclaimed, seizing both her 
bands, “ Ernestine, I plead for life and death. Do you not 
hear ? — I tell you there is no hope for you but in absolute 
repose. Will you voluntarily hurry into the grave yawn- 
ing at your feet '( I have watched you with the eyes of 
a physician and a lover, and I swear to you, by my 
honour, that I have been continually discovering fresh 
cause for anxiety. You look as if you were in a decline 
at this moment. You have the feeble, capricious pulse 
and the cold hands of a victim of disease of the heart. 
Yesterday I heard from Frau Willmers of symptoms 
that filled me with alarm for you, — I grasp at the hope that 
they may be only the effects of your unnaturally forced 
manner of life. But these effects may become causes, in 
your present exhausted condition, causes of mortal disease, 
if you do not spare yourself 1 cannot, in duty or con- 
science, let you go without, hard as it is, enlightening you 
with regard" to your physical condition. 1 would have 
spared you the cruel truth, but your determined obstinacy 
extorts it from me. Have some compassion upon me, and 
do not go before you have seen Heim. He is a man of 
experience, let him judge whether I am right or not. I 
entreat you to see him. Do, Ernestine, do, for my sake, if 
you would not leave me plunged in the depths of despair.” 

Still he held her hands firmly clasped in his. His 
chest heaved, his cheeks were flushed with emotion. All 


430 


ONLY A GIRL; 


the strength of his passionate affection for her seethed 
and glowed in his imperious and imploring entreaties. 

Ernestine stood pale and calm before him. No human 
eye could divine her thoughts. 

Whilst they stood thus silently gazing into each other’s 
eyes, there was a sound as of a carriage driving from 
the door below. Johannes, in his agitation, never heard 
it. Ernestine thought it was possibly her uncle, but slie 
did not care. She had suddenly grown strangely indif- 
ferent to everything in the world. 

“ Ernestine, have you no answer for me ?” asked Jo- 
hannes. 

“I will — reflect — until to-morrow.” 

“Thank God I” burst from the depths of Johannes’ 
heart. As he dropped Ernestine’s hands, he fairly stag- 
gered with exhaustion. 

Again a few moments passed in gloomy silence. 

“ Ernestine,” he then said, “ you have in this last hour 
punished an innocent man for all the sins of his sex. Let 
it sufiice you — indeed you are avenged.” 

Ernestine did not speak. 

Johannes continued. “ I will intrude no longer. May 
I come with Heim to-morrow ?” 

“ You shall learn my decision to-morrow.” 

“Your hand upon it. No ? Then farewell I” 

Ernestine was alone. She stood motionless for awhile, 
never thinking of Johannes, nor of her uncle, who, 
strangely enough, did not appear, but with one sentence 
ringing in her ears, — “ Your pulse is that of a victim to 
disease of the heart.” Those words had stung like a 
scorpion. There was no doubt, then, that Johannes con- 
sidered her past all hope of recovering, — he had plainly 
intimated as much, although he had refrained from bluntly 
telling her so. But was Dr. Mdllner capable of forming 
a correct judgment in her case ? Yes, certainly, both as 
physiologist and physician, he was thoroughly able to 
form a just diagnosis. She did not understand how she 
could so long have ignored the signs in herself of physical 
decline. He was right, — her uncle was her murderer. 
She shuddered at the thought. How near death seemed to 
her now I She thought, and thought called to m*nd 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


431 


every peculiar sensation that she had lately been con- 
scious of, weighed the evidence, and drew conclusions. 

It was remarkable how everything betokened trouble 
with her heart. Johannes wished to consult Ileim. He 
would not have done that, had he not thought her dan- 
gerously ill. What could he or Heim tell her that she 
did not know herself? Had he any means of obtain- 
ing knowledge that were not hers also ? Had she not 
a pathological library, filled with all that a physician 
needed, — the same that she had destined for Walter, but 
had not yet sent to him ? She would consult it and know 
the truth that very day. 

Night had fallen — the rain was dripping outside — the 
room lay in dreary shadow. She rang for lights. Frau 
Willmers brought a study-lamp with a green shade, and 
left her alone again. 

Ernestine placed a small library-ladder against one of 
the tall, heavily-carved bookcases, and mounted it, with 
the lamp in her hand. She took out one book after 
another, without finding the one for which she was search- 
ing. Impatiently she rummaged among the dusty folios, 
that had not been touched for months. At last, by the 
dim light of her lamp, she saw the title that she was 
looking for, but it was beneath a pile of books hastily 
heaped above it. She dragged it out with feverish im- 
patience. The volumes tumbled about, some hard, heavy 
object, lying among them, fell upon her head, almost 
stunning her, and then shattered the lamp in her hand, 
falling afterwards upon the floor with a dull noise amidst 
the broken glass that accompanied it. Ernestine, her 
book under her arm, got down from the ladder with 
trembling knees, to see, by the expiring flame of the 
wick of the lamp, what it was that had caused the mis- 
chief. As she stooped to pick it up, a fleshless, grinning 
face stared into her own. She started back with a cry. 
It was one of the skulls that she had put away in the 
library and long forgotten. The dim light of the lamp 
died out, but through the darkness the white jaws still 
grinned horribly. Almost insane with horror, she called 
again for lights. To her overwrought nerves, the trifling 
accident was in strange harmony with the thoughts that 


432 


ONLY A GIRL; 


were tormenting her. It was as if nature thus gave her 
ominous warning of her fate. 

When lights were brought, she forced herself to look 
the hateful thing in the face again. She picked up the head 
bv its empty eye-sockets. “ Thus shall I shortly look, — no 
fairer than this horror 1” And she went up to a mirror, 
and, in a kind of bravado, compared her own head with 
the fleshless thing. “ You must learn to recognize the 
family likeness,” she said to her own reflection, and in 
feverish fancy she began to analyze her own fair, noble 
features and imagine all the changes that they must pass 
through before their resemblance to their mute, bleached 
companion should be complete. Disgust and dread mas- 
tered her again, and she feared her own reflection in the 
mirror as much as the skull. She threw it from her, and 
then started at the noise it made as it fell into the corner 
of the room, 'the blood rushed to her head, and she 
was deafened by the whirr and singing in her ears, al- 
though, through it all, she seemed to hear something, she 
knew not what, that she could not comprehend, and 
that increased her terror The death’s-head in the cor- 
ner would not — so it seemed to her — keep quiet ; it was 
rolling about there. She could not stay in the room, — 
there was something evil in the air. She took the book 
that she had found, and the candle, and fled like a hunted 
deer to her own apartment, never looking around her in 
the desolate rooms, in fear lest the formless thing that so 
filled her with dread should take visible shape and stare 
at her from some dim recess. But it followed at her 
heels, dogging her footsteps, surrounding her like an at- 
mosphere, and with its hundred arms so oppressing her 
chest and throat, even in the quiet of her own room, 
that it scarcely left space for her heart to beat. How 
strangely it did beat, — so irregularly ! now faint, -now 
strong, as only a diseased heart can beat I A nd she opened 
the book and read her doom, — -read the pages devoted to 
diseases of the heart, hastily, feverishly, with little com- 
prehension of their meaning, for by this time thought 
was merged in fear, and of course she gave the words 
a meaning they did not possess, in dread of finding 
what she wanted to know and yet greedily searching 


OR A PHTSICIAX FOR THE SOUL. 


433 


for it. Yes, it was just as she feared. Not a symptom 
here described that she had not felt. Now it "was be- 
yond all doubt, she was lost, — no cure was possible, — 
only delay, and even that, in her present state of weak- 
ness, was hardly to be hoped. She tossed the book aside, 

' and went to the window for air. Damp with rain and 
close as it was, still it was air. — freer and purer than 
any that she would have in her coffin. Then, to be sure, 
she would need it no more, but it w^as still delightful to 
breathe, and the thought of lying beneath that close 
coffin-lid was suffocation I 

And she was to die soon! Johannes had not been mis- 
taken. It was true. And her strength had been failing 
for a long time. What was she afraid ot‘? What was 
there to fear ? The pain that she might suffer ? Thou- 
I sands had suffered the same agony, and the hour of her re- 
I lease was perhaps closer at hand than she thought. Then 
; she would be strong, — this hope should sustain her. 

She would not falsify even to herself, the declaration that 
I she had made to Johannes scarcely an hour before. Fear ? 

I AVhat? Annihilation, — to cease to be, — it was not 
! cheering, and certainly not sad, — it was simply nothing! 

It was not annihilation that she feared, but a contiuua- • 
tion of existence that might be worse than death, — the 
uncertainty whether the soul perished with the body. 

True,” she said to herself, “ if our eyes are blinded 
they are not conscious of light, our closed ears cannot 
hear. Let this [)hysical mechanism, that is our means of 
communication with the exterior world, pause in its work- 
ing, and communication ceases. But suppose thought 
should be independent of this mechanism ? Oh ! horrible, 
horrible ! why is there no proof that it cannot be so ? 
What if memory lives on and there are no eyes for seeing, 
and of course no light,— no ears for hearing, and no sound, 
no body sensitive to touch, no time or space,— nothing 
but eternal night, eternal silence, only informed by the 
memory of what we have seen and heard, and the long- 
ing for light, sound, and feeling?” 

This was the worst of all,— more dreadful than per- 
sonal annihilation; this was what she fea’-ed. Eternal 
niffht, eternal silence, and eternal solitude! Whose blood 

3T 


434 


ONLY A GIRL; 


would not curdle at the thought, except theirs, i»er‘ 
haps, who were weary and worn with existence, or 
who, looking back upon life’s long labour well per- 
formed, needed not shun an eternity of remembrance? 
Bnt she ? She was not weary of the world, she 
had not yet begun to enjoy it, — she was not old, she 
was just beginning to live. She had done nothing to- 
wards fulfilling her high purposes, nothing that she 
could look back upon with satisfaction. It was too soon, — 
if she must go now, she had nothing to look forward to 
but an eternity of remorse ! And how long must she en- 
dure this dread before the horrible certainty came upon 
her? “Oh, cruel death!” she moaned, “to assail me 
thus insidiously in his most horrid shape, — of slow, lan- 
guishing disease ! If he would only attack me like an 
assassin, that I might do battle with him, — meet me in 
the shape of some falling fragment of rock that I might 
try to avoid, or in engulfing waves that I could breast 
and strive against, — it would be kinder than to steal upon 
me thus, invisible, impalpable, inevitable! Let me flee 
across the ocean to the farthest ends of the earth, 1 can- 
not escape him, I take him with me! Let me mount the 
swiftest steed and be borne wildly over hill and valley, 

I cannot escape him, he will ride with me ! Let me climb 
the loftiest Alps, — in vain! in vain! He nestles within 
me.” She fell upon her knees. “ Oh, omnipotent nature, 
cruel mother who refusest me your bounteous nourish- 
ment, have compassion upon me, and save your child, — 
do not give my thought, my life, to annihilation, and its 
garment to decay ! Millions breathe and prosper who | 
are not worthy of your blessings, — will you thrust out | 
me, your priestess, from your grace?” And she lay pros- j 
trate, wringing her hands, as if awaiting an answer to 
her entreaty. All around her was silent. There was no j 
pity for her. She bethought herself, “ Oh, nature is im- 
placable, why should I pray to her? she does not hear, 
she does not think or feel, but sweeps me from her path 
in the blind despotism of her eternal mechanism. Is there 
no hand to aid ? no judge of the worth of an existence, 
to say, ‘Thou art worthy to live, therefore live ?’ There 
is, liiere is! By the agony of this hour, I know there 


OR A PHYSICIAN- FOR THE SOUL. 


435 


must be a higher justice, a Divinity other than nature. 
The spirit that now in dread of death wrestles with na- 
ture inust have another refuge, a loftier destiny than 
the life of this world !” She clasped her hands upon her 
breast. “ Oh, Faith I Faith! and if it be so, — if there be a 
God, what claim can I have upon His pity ? Could my 
vain pride sustain me before such a judge? What have I 
done to make me worthy of hlis compassion? Have I 
been of any use in the world, — conferred happiness upon 
a single human being, formed one tie pleasant to con- 
1 template ? Have I not all my life long denied His exist- 
ence, and now, like a coward, do I fly to Him for succour ? 
Can I expect aid, and dare to raise my eyes to heaven 
and seek there what the earth denies me? No! I will 
not deceive myself; there is no pity for me, — none in 
nature, none in mankind, none in God !” 

I And Faith overwhelmed her with its terrors, for only 
to the loving heart is Faith revealed as Love. To those 
I who have shunned and denied it, it comes like an aveng- 
ing blast. It bore her poor diseased mind away upon its 
' wings like a withered leaf from the tree of knowledge, 
and tossed it down into the night of despair. 

A cry, “Johannes, come! save me!” burst from Er- 
nestine’s lips, and, in a vain effort to reach the door, 
she fell senseless upon the ground. 


CHAPTER VI. 

SENTENCED. 

I Leuthold had listened to the conversation between 
1 Johannes and Ernestine until it reached the point where 
I he saw that Johannes would prevail. Several times he 
I wondered whether it might not be best to break in upon 
I them and try to give their interview another colour, 
but he reflected that the attempt would be useless with 
a man of Mdllner’s determination, and that he should 
only be forced to listen to fresh accusations. Then he de- 


436 


^NLY A GIRL; 


vised another plan, and determined to make use of the 
opportunity to effect his own escape. Convinced now 
that his game was lost, he gathered together the contents 
of his strong box, and wrote a few lines to Ernestine that 
might be found upon his writing-table when his absence 
was discovered. They ran thus : 

“I have listened to your conversation, and have heard 
the unfortunate turn for me that it has taken. I can no 
longer cherish any hope, and all that I can do is to outwit 
this fellow and escape while he is with you. I take with 
me whatever of money there is in the house, to defray 
the expenses of my journey. I cannot wait until Mollner 
has gone, to ask you for it, for he would stand guard at 
the door again, and I should never escape from his 
clutches. My life, and my child’s future existence, are at 
stake. I cannot delay. If you should still decide to 
leave with me to-day, you will find me at the railroad- 
station. There are still two hours before the departure 
of the train. If you remain, I will send you the money 
for the journey as soon as I can. Farewell, and, I hope, 
au revoir.^^ 

Having written these lines, he slipped out to the sta- 
bles, had the horses put into the carriage, and drove to 
the station. In two hours his fate would be decided I 
Once off in the train, and he was safe I 

The time spent by Ernestine in mortal struggle with 
her doubts and reawakening faith was no less a time of 
torture to him who was the cause of all her woe. Any 
one who has waited a couple of hours for the arrival of 
a railroad-train at some insignificant station knows the 
meaning of the word “patience.” To stand about upon 
a desolate platform, stamping your feet to keep them 
warm, now peering forward to look along the endless 
level road, in hopes of discovering the red spark in the 
distance, then walking up and down the narrow space 
again, and interrogating the sleepy superintendent as often 
as you think his patience will permit, as to whether the 
train will not soon arrive, and always hearing the sanm 
answer, “It will soon be here now,” — an assertion which 
the official himself does not believe, — then, for a change, to 


OR A PHYSICIAN’ FOR THE SOUL, 437 

wander into the dreary refreshment-room, with its eternal 
leathery sandwiches and its faded waiter-girls, who re- 
gard you with such an offensive want of interest because 
you are not sufficiently exhausted by a long journey 
to be brought down to the point of purchasing any 
of their stale provisions, — to look at the clock every ten 
minutes, under the full conviction that at least half an 
^hour must have elapsed since you looked last, — and 
finally, when, stupefied with fatigue and dully resigned to 
waiting, you have sunk upon a seat, to be roused with 
a start by the shrill whistle of the locomotive, causing 
you hastily to collect your seven bundles and rush out, 
only to be stopped by the station-porter, because this is 
not the train you want, but one that passes before your 
train, — all these are the miseries of human life at a rail- 
road-station that every one is familiar with. But for him 
who is waiting for the iron steed to save him from pursuit 
and death, they become the most terrible tortures that 
malicious demons can devise. 

Louthold experienced them to the utmost, with the 
added anxiety of watching in two different directions, 
— in that whence the train was to approach, and in that 
whence he himself had come, and where the avenger 
might now be upon his track. Thus he passed two hours 
upon a mental rack — and when at last the glittering point 
appeared upon the horizon, and, coming nearer and nearer, 
the train swept up before the station, he thought he 
should fall senseless at the sound of the whistle that 
rung in his ears. With all the strength that he was 
master of, he mounted the high steps of the car, and the 
black, red-eyed, guardian angel of thieves and murderers 
spread abroad its smoky pinions and steamed away with 
him into the night. 

Safety seemed assured. Upon the iron path, along 
which he was carried with such fiery speed, no pursuit 
could overtake him, except through the electric spark, — 
that might outstrip him and cause his arrest at some other 
station. But this fear did not trouble him greatly, for no 
one knew whither he had fled. To baffle pursuit, he had 
purchased a ticket for a distant town on the left bank of 
the Rhine while he intended going directly to Hamburg, 

37 * 


438 


ONLY A GIRL; 


first stoppiLg ai Hanover to take his daughter from her 
boarding-school. 

It was a cold, disagreeable night. Overpowered by 
fatigue, he fell asleep once or twice. He dreamed he was 
in the cabin of a vessel upon the ocean, — once more he 
breathed freely — his fears were at an end. And as we are 
apt to say, when some danger is past, “ Now we are on dry 
land again,” he, on the contrary, exulted in being on the 
water. But suddenly the cruel guard shouted in at the 
door his monotonous “Five minutes for refreshment I” 
and recalled him to the consciousness that he was still 
on the land, on the land where for him there was no 
real safety. Thus the night passed between waking and 
sleeping. The other travellers looked compassionately, 
by the flickering light of the car-lamp, at the pale, beard- 
less man leaning back so wearily in the corner, and 
thought he must be very ill. 

At last the dawn flushed the horizon, and revealed the 
uninteresting level landscape. The usual beverage was 
offered at all the stopping-places, and drank for coffee by 
the chilly travellers, who, reduced to a state of physical 
and mental weakness, made no complaints, only mur- 
mured, “At least it is something warm I” 

An old lady, who had got into the car during the night, 
and, seated by Leuthold, fairly drank herself through the 
whole journey, was greatly troubled by the presence of 
the pale man who appeared impervious to earthly needs 
and sat perfectly motionless in his corner. What kind of 
a man could this be, who never stirred, never took any re- 
freshment, never smoked, never spoke, not even to answer 
the usual question, “ Where are we now ?” which is almost 
sure to open a conversation ? Nothing makes friends more 
speedily than common discomfort in travelling at night. 
All the other travellers in the car had grown confidential, 
— had stretched themselves, and told whether and how 
they had slept. Leuthold alone was as if deaf and dumb. 
Of course the others leagued against him. They watched 
him curiously, and made whispered remarks upon his 
appearance. At last he grew very uncomfortable. The 
restlessness of the old lady by his side tormented him, 
she was perpetually burying him beneath her huge fur 


OR A PHYSICIAN’ FOR THE SOUL. 


439 


cloak, which, she informed him, she had brought into the 
car with her because it would not go into her trunk, and 
now it had turned out quite useful — who would have 
thought a September night would be so cool ? Still, she 
must take it off, lest she should take cold, and she disen- 
tangled herself from the voluminous garment, almost 
smothering Leuthold in the process. The other gentle- 
men smilingly assisted her, and Leuthold extricated him- 
self impatiently. The cloak was at- last, with consider- 
able pains, secured in the place made for portmanteaus on 
one side of the car, during which process the towers of 
the capital, looming in the light of morning, were ap- 
proached unperceived. The pains had been fruitless, for 
the guard opened the door with the words that would 
release Leuthold, “ Tickets for Hanover, gentlemen I” 

“ Oh, good gracious ! are we there already cried the 
old lady, rummaging her pockets for her ticket, which 
Leuthold fortunately picked up from the floor and handed 
to her. 

Appeased by his courtesy, she asked him if he too was 
going to get out at Hanover, and, upon his answering by 
a brief “ Yes,” she informed him, to his horror, that she 
was going to take her youngest daughter from the board- 
ing-school there, to establish her as companion with a 
lady in Copenhagen. She had a hard journey before her, 
for she should continue it that very night. 

Therefore he determined not to take the night train for 
Hamburg, as he had at first intended, since then he would 
have to travel the long road thither from Hanover in 
company with this officious old gossip and her daughter. 
He could not avoid them, as the daughter was in the same 
boarding-school with Gretchen, and probably one of her 
friends. It was incumbent upon him to have no companions 
to whom he might become known and who could thus afford 
intelligence to the authorities concerning his route. Great 
as was the danger in delay, this peril was still greater. 
He must choose the lesser evil, and lose a day. 

The train stopped. The old lady emerged from the 
car, like a mole from the earth, and was greeted with a 
joyful exclamation from her daughter, who was waiting 
for her at the station. 


440 


ONLY A GIRL: 


Leiithold threw himself into a droschky, and drove to 
a hotel, whence he dispatched a few lines to his daughter, 
requesting her to come to him. 

A long half-hour ensued. What would the daughter 
be whom he had not seen for seven years? Was she 
what she seemed in her letters ? If she were, how should 
he meet her and gaze into her innocent eyes ? 

There was a gentle knock at the door. “ Come in,” he 
cried eagerly, and there entered a creature so lovely in 
her budding maidenhood that Leuthold could only open 
his arms to her in mute delight. 

The girl stood for one moment timidly upon the thresh- 
old, and then threw herself upon her father’s breast 
with a cry of joy, — a cry in which all the home-sickness 
of years was dissolved in the rapture of reunion. Closer 
and closer each clasped the other, — neither could utter a 
word. The child wept tears of joy in her father’s arms, 
and bitter drops fell from Leuthold’s eyes upon the head 
that he pressed to his breast as if this happiness were to 
be his only for a few minutes. 

“ Father, let me look at you,” Gretchen said at last, 
extricating herself from his embrace. And she put her 
hands upon either side of his head, and gazed into his 
eyes with the clear, frank glance of innocence. He bore 
her look as he would have borne to look at the sun : 
it seemed to him that it must blind him, and that he 
should never be able to raise his eyelids again. 

“ Father dear, I can see how you have laboured and 
suffered,” said Gretchen sadly. “ It was high time for 
you to allow yourself a little relaxation. Ah, how good 
it is of you to come to me, — ^to me I” And her emotion 
found vent in kisses. “ But the surprise !” she cried with 
a long breath, “ the surprise 1 I could hardly believe 
my eyes when your note was handed to me. ‘ My 
father’s hand,’ I thought, ‘ and from here V I opened the 
note and read, — and read, — in distinct letters, that my 
father was really here. I gave such a cry of delight that 
every one came running to know what was the matter. 
I was just out of bed, and would gladly have run to you 
in my dressing-gown I Oh, heavens! I could siiarcely 
dress myself, — everything went wrong. I should never 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


441 


have got through if the Fraulein had not helped me, — I 
was’ in such a hurry And she laughed, and cried, 
and threw her arms around her father again, as if she 
feared he might vanish from her sight. “Ah, father, 
what shall 1 call you? My own darling father, is this 
really you ? Are you going to stay with me now for a 
while? Are you half as glad to see me as I am to see 
you ?’’ 

Thus the innocent, joyous creature overwhelmed him 
with love and caresses, and he. lost as he was, heard his 
condemnation in every one of her tender words. 

Could this angel ever descend from her upper sphere 
to a knowledge of her father’s crime? Could her pure 
soul ever be stained with thoughts of sin, of which as 
yet she had no idea, and learn to despise, as a criminal, 
him whom she now held dearest in the world ? 

But this was not all that he feared. What if his dis- 
grace were to be visited upon his child? What if this 
young bud should -be buried beneath the ruins of his 
shattered existence? Who would have anything to do 
with the daughter of a criminal ? 

“ Visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children to 
the third and fourth generation I” These words, hitherto 
only empty sounds to him, haunted his memory in terrible 
distinctness. They perfectly expressed the dread that 
possessed him. 

“ Father, how silent you are I” said Gretchen timidly. 

“Oh, my child, — my life I I can do nothing but look 
at you and delight in you I Your loveliness is like a 
revelation to me from on high I I have become a new 
man since I know myself the father of such a child 1 I 
cannot jest and laugh, — my joy is too deep I So let me 
be silent, and, believe me, the graver I am, the more I 
love you.” 

Gretchen instantly understood and sympathized with 
her father’s mood. “You are right, — we do not jest and 
laugh in church, and yet I am so filled there with grati- 
tude for God’s kindness to me I How I thank Him now 
for this moment 1 I have prayed Him for so many years 
to send you to me, and now my prayer is answered — you 
are here. His way is always the best. He has not sent 


442 


ONLY A GIRL; 


you before, because I was not old enough to appreciate 
this happiness.” Leuthold had seated himself by* this 
time, and she stood beside him and pillowed his head 
upon her breast. “ You are worn out, father dear. You 
look so sad. But now you are mine, and I will tend you 
and cherish you until you forget all your care and anxiety. 
Oh that Ernestine, — I will not wish her ill, but would 
she only give back to me every smile that she has stolen 
from you, — to me, who have nothing but your smile in 
this world !” She imprinted upon his forehead a kiss 
that burned there like a coal of fire. 

“ We will not speak of Ernestine now, my child,” said 
Leuthold. “Let her be what she is. We will talk of 
her by-and-by. Lately she has not been so hard to con- 
trol, and has often spoken of you affectionately. I think 
she will shortly marry, and then she will be gentler, for 
love always ennobles. She has not quite decided as to 
her future course yet, but I think she will marry. At all 
events, she will take care of you -if anything should 
happen to me. Yes, she will, — I am sure of it.” 

“ Father,” cried Gretchen in alarm, “ how can you talk 
so? What could happen to you?” 

“Why, my child, I might die suddenly. We must be 
prepared for everything, the future is in God’s hand.” 

Gretchen knelt down beside him, and pressed her 
rosy lips upon his slender hand. “ Father dear, why 
cast a shadow upon this happy hour? Just as I have 
found you, must I think of losing you? Oh, my Heav- 
enly Father cannot be so cruel! You are in His hand, 
and He who has brought you to me will let me keep 
you.” 

She laid her head upon his knee with childlike tender- 
ness, and was silent. 

“Visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children” 
rang again in the ears of the happy and yet miserable 
^ather. Thus several hours passed, amid the girl’s loving 
talk and laughing jests, until at last, at noon, she sprang 
up and declared she must go home to dinner. Leuthold 
would not let her go. He said they would not expect 
her at the school, — they would know she would stay 
with her father. And so they dined together, for the 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


443 

first time after so many years. Bat to Leuthold the 
meal was like the last before his execution. 

After dinner he went to see the governess of the Insti- 
tute, and asked her to allow Gretchen to take a pleasure- 
trip of a few weeks with him, — a request that was readily 
granted, although madarae declared that she could not 
tell how she should do without Gretchen so long. “For 
I assure you,” said she, “ that Gretchen has richly re- 
warded us for our trouble. When she really leaves me, 
she will carry a large piece of my heart with her.” 

“ Oh, how can 1 thank you ?” cried Gretchen, throwing 
herself into her kind friend’s arms. 

Leuthold was deeply troubled. Should he snatch this 
child from the soil into which she had struck root so se- 
curely, and where she had blossomed so fairly in the sun- 
shine of peace and good will ? And yet could he leave 
her here to lose her forever ? If justice should pursue 
him to America, he never could send for his daughter 
without betraying his place of refuge. She was his child. 
He had a sacred claim upon her, and, since he had seen 
her again, was less able than ever to do without her. She 
should share his fate. 

While he was in the parlour of the Institute, the old 
lady who had been his travelling companion, and who 
had passed the whole day with her daughter, entered, 
and was charmed to meet him again, only regretting that 
they were not to continue their journey together that 
evening. 

Madame invited him to return to tea, — an invitation 
that he could not refuse, — and he left the house for awhile 
for a walk with Gretchen. The girl’s delight knew no 
bounds when she found herself promenading the streets 
upon her father’s arm. She had on her prettiest bonnet 
and her best dress, — she wished to be a credit to her 
father and to please him, and she entirely succeeded. 
She was charming. Leuthold regarded her with increas- 
ing admiration, and his busy mind began to weave fresh 
plans for the future out of her brown hair and long eye- 
lashes. The world stood open for this angel, might she 
not pass scathless through it with a father who had been 
proscribed ? Who could withstand those half-laughing, 


444 


ONLY A GIRL; 


half-pensive gazelle-eyes, and those pouting lips, pleading 
for a father ? 

As she walked beside him thus, her elastic form 
lightly supported upon his arm, prattling on with all 
the grace of a nature full of sense and sensibility, he 
too began to smile and to revive. He might be most 
wretched as a man, but he was greatly to be envied as 
a father. 

Gretchen interrupted his reverie. “Father,” she said 
in a low voice, “when I was a little child, you never 
liked to have me speak of my mother. But I want very 
much to know what became of her after she married that 
head-waiter. Will you tell me to-day?” 

“ I can tell you nothing, — I know nothing of her 
since she left Marburg, after her father’s death. At the 
time of the divorce she sent me the sum that she was to 
contribute to the expenses of your education, and her 
coarse husband permitted no further correspondence be- 
tween us. He sent back to me unopened every letter in 
which I tried to arrange matters more methodically. I 
learned through a third person that she had left Marburg. 
I do not know where she is living now.” 

Gretchen shook her head and said nothing. 

“ I look like you, father, do I not ?” she asked anx- 
iously. She did not want to resemble her faithless 
mother in anything. 

“ You inherit her beauty, refined and ennobled, and my 
way of thinking and feeling.” 

Gretchen nestled close to his side. “ I would like to 
grow more like you every day.” 

“ God forbid I” Leuthold thought to* himself, in the full 
consciousness of what he was, as he turned to go back 
to the Institute. If he could only have thus retraced his 
steps in the path of life I 

The evening passed more slowly than if he had been 
alone with Gretchen, although he was delighted by fresh 
proofs of her ability and progress. He was especially 
surprised by her artistic talent, — her drawings and 
sketches in colour. She had not exaggerated when she 
wrote to him that she was as entirely fitted as a girl 
could be to earn her own livelihood. He was perfectly 


OR A PjBTSIOIAJ^ FOR TEE SOUL. 


445 


satisfied upon that point. And as he lay down to rest at 
night, a sense of relief filled his mind greater than any he 
had felt for a long time, and it soothed him to repose. 

The next morning Gretchen heard, to her surprise, that 
her kind father desired to give her a glimpse of the ocean. 
He would wait until they were on board of the steamer, 
he thought, before he told her of his real plans. They 
took the early train for Hamburg, and arrived there 
towards evening. Leuthold thought it advisable to go 
directly to a large hotel, where an individual would not 
excite as much observation as in a smaller house. He 
selected one of the most splendid hotels in the gayest 
street in Hamburg. 

Gretchen was enchanted with the sight of this north- 
ern Venice. The extensive basin of the Alster lay be- 
fore them, framed in hundreds of bright lights, on its 
bank the brilliantly illuminated Alster Pavilion, while 
the rippling waves reflected the moon’s rays in a long path 
of shining silver. Like pictures in a magic lantern, the 
gondolas glided hither and thither, and the fresh sea- 
breeze wafted the notes of gay music from the other side. 
The waves of the sea of light and of sound burst in 
harmony upon Gretchen’s eyes and ears, and made her 
fairly giddy with delight. She could almost believe that 
the Nixies, scared away to their depths during the day by 
the passing to and fro upon the waters of so much life 
and vivacity, were now beginning to sport there in the 
moonlight, playing around the skiffs and singing their en- 
ticing strains. And when she turned her eyes to the shore, 
bordered by palaces and crowded with restless throngs 
of pedestrians and gay equipages, presenting a scene of 
reality to counteract the dreamy impression produced by 
the expanse of water, the world seemed to the child a gar- 
den of enchantment, and her father the mighty magician 
reigning over it, who had brought her hither to enjoy its 
splendours. She threw her arms around him and kissed his 
hands, and could not thank him enough for giving her 
such new delight. 

The carriage stopped at the entrance of the mag- 
nificent hotel, and the attendants came running to offer 
their services. The head-waiter stood in the door- 

38 


446 


ONLY A GIRL; 


way, ready to receive the new arrivals. Leuthold helped 
out Gretchen and handed over the baggage to a servant. 
As he ascended the steps, he glanced for the first time at 
the dignified and trim deputy of the host. He started, 
and the man too was evidently startled. Each seemed 
familiar to the other ; one moment of reflection, and the 
recognition was mutual. Leuthold held fast by Gret- 
chen, or he would have staggered. There stood the head- 
waiter of his father-in-law’s inn, — Bertha’s husband. 

They exchanged a hostile glance of recognition. 
Then the man cried with a perfectly unconcerned air, 
“ Louis, show Dr. Gleissert and his daughter to Nos. 
42 and 43.” 

It seemed to Leuthold that the servant smiled at the 
mention of his name, and that he exchaq^ged a significant 
glance with his chief. But this was probably only an 
illusion of his excited fancy. He hesitated whether it 
would not be better to go to another hotel. But that 
would look like flight, — he had been recognized, and, if 
the man chose to pursue him, he could follow him to any 
inn in Hamburg. 

His enemy stood aside with a contemptuous obeisance, 
and Leuthold followed his guide up to the fourth story. 
“ Have you no room in a lower story ?” he asked. 

“ Very sorry, sir,” replied the servant with a smile, 
“they are all occupied — you have a very good view here 
of the river.” 

Leuthold was silent. He seemed to have fallen into a 
trap. How had he come to choose in all this wide city 
the very house where dwelt his worst enemy ? How did 
the fellow come here ? 

The servant Louis opened a charming room, looking 
out upon the water, and Gretchen could not suppress an 
exclamation of delight as she looked down from such a 
height upon all the beauty below them. It seemed like 
heaven to her. Louis lighted the candles, and awaited 
further orders. 

“ How long has Herr Meyer been head-waiter here?” 
Leuthold asked as if incidentally. 

'• For about a year,” Louis replied, arranging his nap- 
kin upon his arm. “ He is a relative of the proprietor of 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


44T 


this house, who, when his only son died, sent for Herr 
Meyer, that the business might not pass into strange 
hands.” 

“ Indeed — then will Herr Meyer succeed him ?” 

“I believe so, — yes, sir.” 

Leuthold walked to and fro upon the soft carpet. 

Will you have supper, sir ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Will you go down to the dining-hall, sir 

“No, I had rather not mount those four flights of stairs 
again. Bring our supper here, if you please.” 

“ Very well, sir, I will get you the bill of fare instantly.” 

“ Here — stop a moment ” 

“What do you wish, sir?” 

“ Bring me up a couple of newspapers at the same time.” 

.“ Very well, sir.” 

As the door closed behind the man, Gretchen turned 
round from the window, where she had been standing 
with clasped hands. “ Father,” said she, “ I am fairly 
dazzled with all that I see. I never was so happy in my 
life before. But, in the midst of it all, I never forget 
whom I have to thank for all this pleasure.” And she 
knelt upon the carpet and laid her head upon the 
lap of her father, who bad flung himself exhausted into 
a chair. “ Do not you too, father, feel easy and free up 
here in the pure, clear air, with this lovely view of the 
shining water ?” 

“ Oh, yes, dear child,” said Leuthold, his breast filled 
the while with deadly forebodings. 

Gretchen sprang up again, and took two or three deep 
breaths. “ Oh,” she cried, running to the window again, 
“ it seems to me that I have been thirsty all my life, and 
am now drinking deep refreshing draughts in looking at 
those rolling waves.” She leaned her fair forehead against 
the window-frame, and eagerly inhaled the fresh breeze 
that blew into the room from the Alster. “ How happy 
those are who are at home upon two elements,” she con- 
tinued, “ land and water 1 We, poor land-rats, must cling 
to the soil. Think of inhabiting all four of the elements, 
now working and walking upon the earth, then soaring 
aloft into the air, now floating dreamily upon the waves, 


448 


ONLY A GIRL; 


or dancing in the ardent glow of fire, — would not that be 
glorious 

“ Then you would be man, fish, bird, and sala- 
mander all at once,” said Leuthold, smiling in surprise 
at the girl’s earnest tone. “ Well, well, it might be all 
very delightful at sixteen, but a man as aged as your old 
father is thankful if he can live respectably upon the earth 
only. ” 

“ My old father 1” laughed Gretchen, hastening to his 
side again — “ you darling papa, how can you call yourself 
aged ? Come with me to the window, the prospect there 
will make you twenty years younger.” She drew him 
towards it. “ It is very strange, I think, but certainly a 
new revelation of beauty should make the old younger, 
and the young older. It is a new experience for the 
young, and experience always makes us mature. It is a 
memory for the old, for .they are sure to have seen some- 
thing of the kind in previous years, and it carries them 
back to the earlier and youthful sensations that it first 
awakened in them. Such a memory should lighten the 
soul of ten years at least.” 

Leuthold looked at his daughter with unfeigned surprise. 

Child, where did you learn all that?” 

“Why, out of some book that I have read, I suppose,” 
said Gretchen modestly. “ One always remembers some- 
thing, you know.” 

“Blessed be the day that gave you to me, — you are all 
that I have.” 

There was a knock at the door, and the servant entered 
with the bill of fare and the newspapers. 

“ Excuse me, sir, for keeping you waiting. I had to go 
to Madame for to-day’s paper.” 

“No matter,” said Leuthold, almost gaily. His talk with 
his daughter had done him good. 

He ordered a little supper, and, when the man left the 
room, seated himself on a sofa and began to read. 

Gretchen took her work, — she was just at the age 
when affection finds instant pleasure in embroidering Or 
crocheting some article for the beloved object. So she 
sat and sewed diligently upon a letter-case that she was 
embroidering for her father while he read. Now and then 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


449 


she turned and looked out of the window, to be sure that 
all the splendour there had not vanished. 

Suddenly she was startled by a profound sigh from her 
father, and, looking up, she saw him sitting pale as ashes, 
staring at the paper that had fallen from his hands. In 
an instant he sprang to his feet and walked up and down 
the room in mute despair. 

“ What is the matter, dear, dear father ? what is it 
she asked in alarm, but, receiving no reply, she picked up 
the newspaper, to see if she could discover from it what 
had caused his agitation. She read unobserved by him 
— he was leaning out of the window for air — read what 
seemed to her a strange tongue, to be deciphered only 
in her heart’s blood. It was a telegraphic order from 

the magistrate of W . “Dr. Leuthold Gleissert, former 

Professor in Pr — , is charged with having appropriated, 
by means of forgery, and expended upon his own account, 
the property, amounting to upwards of ninety thousand 
thalers, of his ward Ernestine von Hartwich, of Iloch- 
stetten, and also of having robbed the mail. You are 
desired to arrestand detain him.” A personal description 
of him followed, but Gretchen had read enough. “ Fatherl” 
she screamed, “ fatherl fatherl” And, as if in these three 
words she had summed up all there was to say, she fell 
forward with her face upon the floor, as though never to 
raise it again. 

There stood the guilty man, forced to behold his child 
crushed beneath the ruins of his shattered existence. He 
did not venture to touch the sacred form extended before 
him in anguish. He looked down upon her like one 
almost bereft of reason. God had visited his sin upon 
him, probing the only place in his heart sensitive to hu- 
man feeling — his punishment lay in the sight of his child’s 
agony without the power to relieve it. 

Suddenly Gretchen raised her head and looked at him 
with those clear, conscious eyes whose gaze he had always 
endured with difficulty, and before which his own eyes 
now drooped instantly. “It is not true — it cannot be I 
Father, you are innocent — you cannot have done this 
thing I” 


38 * 


450 


ONLY A GIRL; 


*‘For God’s sake, Gretchen, do not speak so loud,” 
Leuthold entreated. ^ 

“You tremble — you will not look at me. Father, if 
you have thus burdened your soul, I cannot be your 
jud^e — I will be your conscience. I will not let 3mu enjoy 
a single hour of rest or sleep until you have restored 
what does not belong to you. I will die of hunger before 
your eyes, rather than taste a morsel that is not honestly 
earned. But what am 1 saving? I am beside myself I 
It is not possible! — not possible! Relieve me from my 
misery by one word. JVly soul is in darkness, cast one 
ray of light into it.” She clasped his knees imploringly. 
“ Father, swear to me that you are innocent 

“ My child ” 

She interrupted him. “ No, no oath, no asseveration — 
there is no need between us of any such — only a simple 
yes or no, and I will believe you ! Look at me, father, 
— oh, look at me ! Do not speak, do not even say yes or 
no, — let me but look into your eyes, and my doubts will 
disappear.” 

“ Gretchen,” whispered Leuthold, trying to extricate 
himself from her clasping arms, “listen to me!” 

“No, father, no, I will not let you go. I want no ex- 
planation, no argument. If you have committed this 
crime, nothing can extenuate it. I will hear nothing, 
know nothing, but whether you have committed it or not.” 
She sought, in childlike eagerness, to meet his eye — she 
unclosped her arms from his knees to seize his hands and 
cover them with kisses, while a flood of tears relieved her 
heart. “ Forgive me, forgive me for daring to speak thus 
to you, a child to a father. Oh, God! how unworthy I 
am of your affection! The false accusation invented by 
evil men could lead me astray, and I dare to ask if you 
are innocent ! Forgive me, my kind, patient father — see, 
I will not ask you again, I will not even look inquiringly 
into your eyes. The touch of your hand, this dear, faithful 
hand, suffices to reassure me and lead me back to the 
knowledge of a daughter’s duty.” And she laid her face, 
wet with tears, upon his hands, with a touching humility 
that cut him more deeply than any accusations could have 
done. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


451 


“ There — that’s quite enough I” suddenly said a voice 
behind them, that curdled the blood in Leuthold’s veins. 
“I will teach you a daughter’s duty I” And from the 
doorway of the adjoining room Bertha’s stout figure made 
its appearance boldly advancing. 

“Good God, my mother I” shrieked Gretchen, and she 
recoiled involuntarily. 

“ Gretel,” said the woman, “are you afraid of your 
mother while you are on your knees to that villain ?” 

Leuihold stepped between lier and his child. “ Bertha,” 
said he, “it seems to me my punishment is sufiBcient. 
Surely you need not avenge yourself by snatching from 
me my child’s heart, — a heart that you never prized, and 
will never win to yourself. If there is a particle of ma- 
ternal tenderness in your breast, spare, not me, but this 
innocent angel. Do not destroy the most precious pos- 
session of a youthful heart, — confidence in her father. 
Bertha, Bertha, you will harm .the daughter more than 
the parent I Give heed to your maternal heart, which 
must throb more quickly at sight of this fair flower, and 
spare me a blow that would annihilate her.” 

Frau Bertha folded her arms, and looked upon Leuthold 
with exceeding disdain. “ Oho ! now it is your turn to 
beg. I am no longer rude, clumsy, and coarse as a brute, 
as I was when you drove me off because I was too awk- 
ward to help you to steal the inheritance.” 

“ Bertha !” cried Leuthold, pointing to Gretchen, whose 
imploring eyes were turning from one parent to the other 
in increasing distress. 

“ Yes, yes, she shall hear it all I She shall know what 
a charming papa she has, and that you are not unjustly 
accused in the papers. Why should you stop at such a 
crime as that, when you would have beggared Ernestine 
as a child, persuading old Hartwich to make you his heir ? 
There is nothing that you would not do. I can tell her 
that,— I, your wife, who lived with you for years. And 
your child shall curse you, instead of adoring you as a 
saint. No one can tell what a fine game you might have 
played, if you had once got off to America with such a 
pretty girl.” 

At these words Gretchen uttered a loud shriek. 


452 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Bertha pkilessly continued, “ And just because I have 
maternal feeling enough to try to save my child, I will 
prevent your evil designs. You shall not carry the poor 
thing away with you to such a life as yours, — not while 
I live!” 

“ Bertha,” cried Leuthold, forgetting all caution, “ hush, 
or mischief will be done here I” 

“ What mischief? Will you try to throttle me, as you 
did when Hartwich made Ernestine his heir instead of 
you ? Only lay a finger on me I There is a police-officer 
outside in the passage, whom my husband placed there 
lest Louis should not be able to serve my fine gentleman 
with sufficient elegance.” 

“ Great God I” gasped Gretchen, staggering as if mor- 
tally wounded. 

“Is it really so? Could your mean desire for revenge 
degrade you thus?” asked Leuthold, still incredulous. 

“It was not I, but my husband, who owes you a 
grudge because I played him false and married you. A 
gentleman came here this morning with the chief of police 
to search this house, as well as all the other hotels in the 
city, and left orders that if you arrived here he was to 
be informed of it. My husband sent for him, and, for 
greater security’s sake, for a police-officer too, — I only 
wanted to speak to poor Gretel beforehand, and take her 
under my protection when her father was arrested.” She 
approached the girl, who fled like some frightened animal 
to the farthest corner of the room. 

“Go!” she cried, trembling in every limb. “Do not 
touch me! You can do nothing for me now but kill 
me, and put an end to the agony you have brought 
upon me.” 

She burst into a piteous fit of sobbing. No one ob- 
served that the door had been gently opened, and that a 
young man was standing upon the threshold, regarding 
the unfortunate girl with the deepest compassion. 

“My child,” said Leuthold, going timidly up to her, 
“my child, will you not listen to one word from your un- 
worthy father?” 

“ Do not speak, father. What good can it do ? I can- 
not believe you any more, — cannot save you, — cannot, 


II OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 45a 

although I would so gladly do it, — wash away your guilt, 
even with my heart’s blood. I can only weep for you.” 

“Forgive one entirely unknown to you for intruding 
upon such grief,” the stranger now said, in a voice 
trembling with pity. “I am compelled by cruel circum- 
stances to appear as an enemy, when I would gladly act 
the part of a b'iend and comforter.” He turned to Bertha. 
“ May I entreat you to leave us a few minutes alone?” 

She went out grumbling. 

“ Herr Gleissert,” he continued, “ my name is Hils- 
born. Do not start. I am not come to avenge my dead 
father. His sainted spirit would disdain revenge. He 
forgave you freely while he lived. I come in place of my 
friend Mollner, who is detained by the dangerous illness 

I of your niece, to vindicate the rights of Fraulein Ernes- 
tine. We learned from Frau Willmers that you had sent 
your effects to Hamburg poste-reatante several days ago, 
and that you would of course be obliged to come hither 
to reclaim them. Mollner requested me to pursue you 
without delay, and, without one thought of personal re- 
.Venge, I consented to assist my friend in reinstating your 
.unfortunate ward in her rights. I little knew what my 
acceptance of this duty would cost me, for the few minutes 
that I lingered on that threshold taught me that my task 
is not alone to hand you over to justice, but to deprive a 
daughter of her father.” 

“ You shame me, sir, by such kindness at a moment 
when a less magnanimous man would have believed 
himself justified in heaping me with insult. I am 
the more grateful to you since you, of all others, have 
most reason to hate me. Your humanity, under these 
sad circumstances, relieves me with regard to the fate of 
my unfortunate child, for it emboldens me to hope that 
you will extend your chivalrous kindness to her also.” 

“ Rely upon it. I will do so,” Hilsborn assured him. 
“And let me hope, my child, that you will not reject 
the noble protection thus offered you. Herr Hilsborn, 
remember, has done your father na wrong, — he has only, 
in his natural desire for justice, lent his aid to the hand that 
is })ursuing me. I presume,” continued be, turning to Hils- 
born, “that you have provided for my immediate arrest?” 


454 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“Yes, Herr Gleissert,” said Hilsborn gently, “the su- 
perintendent of the hotel has assisted me to do so.’^ 

“ Then I will place no unnecessary obstacles in your 
way. I shall submit to the investigation with a good 
conscience.’’ 

Hilsborn laid his hand lightly upon Leuthold’s arm. 

“ Herr Gleissert, do not reject advice that is well meant.” j 
He spoke in a whisper, that Gretchen, who was listening j 
with feverish eagerness, might not hear what he said. ' 

“ Well ?” asked Leuthold. 

“ Do not attempt denial, you will only weaken your 
case. The proofs of your crime are most decisive.” 

“ How so?” asked Leuthold quietly, believing that he 
had destroyed every scrap of paper that could criminate 
him. 

“ On the evening of your flight, a letter was received 
from a former maid of Fraulein Hartwich’s, who trav- 
elled in Italy with you, demanding immediate pay- 
ment of her yearly stipend, for which she had written 
several times in vain. She reminds you, Herr Gleissert, 
of what she has done for you, — how she worked some- 
times all night long, trying to imitate Fraulein von Hart- 
wich’s signature, that she might be able to counterfeit 
her successfully before the notary. In short, the letter 
proves beyond a doubt that you deceived the notary by 
substituting the person as well as the signature of the 
maid for your ward’s, that the deed might be complete by 
which the Orphans’ Court was induced to resign the 
estate in its charge.” 

Leuthold stood before the young man pale and mute. 
Hilsborn saw the terrible agony of his soul. 

“ I do not tell you this to humiliate you or to increase 
your pain, but only to warn you,” he continued, “that 
you may not lose any time by a false plan of defence, and 
perhaps thereby deprive yourself of the sympathy sure 
to await a man of your culture who makes frank and 
remorseful confession of his guilt.” 

Leuthold’s lips quivered at these well-meant words. 

“ Have steps been taken to secure the person of the 
maid ?” he inquired, in the tone in which he would have 
asked, “ How long have I to live ?” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


455 


“ Professor Mollner telegraphed immediately to 0 , 

the girl’s present place of abode, and just before 1 left 
him he received intelligence that she had been placed 
under arrest. The notary also has been summoned. Be 
assured that, as your arrest has been conducted with 
the greatest foresight, no measures will be neglected to 
insure your conviction. The only course left for you is 
to endeavour to secure the sympathies of the jury.” 

“ I thank you !” said Leuthold. 

Gretchen had been standing leaning against the win- 
dow-frame, and had understood more than Hilsborn had 
intended that she should. The waters of the Alster 
were still rolling below her, the lights were sparkling, 
and, in the terrible silence that now ensued, the music 
of the waltzes in the pavilion could be plainly heard. 
Was it possible that there was no change outside, while 
she felt as if the world were crumbling in pieces around 
her ? 

Again the door opened, and several figures appeared. 
Everything swam before Gretchen’s eyes, her heart beat 
as though every throb were its last. An official entered, 
“ Excuse me, sir,” he said to Hilsborn, “ I cannot wait 
any longer.” 

Leuthold looked towards the door. Two police-offi- 
cers were standing outside, and Bertha with her husband. 
And who were those ? Other figures were constantly ap- 
pearing in the brilliantly lighted hall, inmates of the 
house, eager to witness the arrest. And was he to be led 
through all that gaping, staring crovyd ? lie, who, with 
all his crimes, had always preserved appearances, — was 
be at last to be as it were held up to public contempt, 
dragged through the lighted passages and down the stair- 
cases by policemen, like a common thief? Of course there 
would be an eager crowd below, and another upon his 

arrival at N . His only road now lay through long 

rows of curious faces, dragged from examination to ex- 
amination. from disgrace to disgrace, — he, a man who had 
always preserved an outward respectability, — until he 
should end either in a convict’s coat or the strait-jacket of 
a madman I The time for reflection was over. He turned a 
little, only a very little, aside, and drew a folded paper from 


456 


ONLY A GIRL; 


his pocket, — it did not take a moment, no one observed 
the motion. And what else ? It was so easy to put his 
hand to his lips and swallow the powder that the paper 
contained, far easier than to pass through that brilliant 
hall, through that murmuring, staring mob, to the court- 
room, and thence to a jail I Only an instant, — it was 
done. It tasted bitter, and he drank a glass of water 
to destroy the taste upon his tongue. Then he stepped 
up to Gretchen, who was upon her knees, her face buried 
in her hands. “ Gretchen,” he said almost inaudibly, 
“forgive your unhappy father 1” 

“ Father ? Almighty God, I have no father I” burst 
from the lips of his tortured child, 

Leuthold looked at her with dim eyes. “I am con- 
demned !” was all he could say. 

Then he turned to the oflScials. “ Gentlemen, at such 
a moment as this, it is surely natural for a father to pro- 
vide for the future of those whom he may leave behind 
him. I am ill, and may die at any moment. In case of my 
demise, therefore, I appoint, before all these witnesses, 
Herr Professor Hilsborn my daughter’s guardian, as I 
hold her mother, who survives me, entirely unht in every 
respect to be her guide and protector. The fact of her 
having forsaken her daughter at a tender age, and never 
troubling herself to inquire concerning her afterwards, 
will prove the justice of what I say. I pray you, 
gentlemen, to attest the validity of this my last will, 
when the hour for doing so arrives. Observe that I am 
at present in full possession of my mental faculties.” 

The by-standers looked at him ’in amazement. Bertha 
would have spoken, but her husband restrained her. 

The officer said, coldly but politely, “ Your direc- 
tions shall, if necessary, receive due attention. Rely 
upon it.” 

“ You have no objections to make ?” Leuthold asked 
Hilsborn. 

“ Your wish shall be sacred to me,” the young man 
assured him. 

“ And now, sir,' I beg for one great favour,” Leuthold 
whispered to the officer. “ Grant me one half-hour’s 
delay.” 


OR A PETSICIAK FOR THE SOUL. 


45T 


I am sorry, but I have waited too long already.’’ 

“ Only one-half hour, sir, for the love of Heaven, — a 
quarter of an hour I” Leuthold pleaded. The poison was 
beginning to work. His knees trembled, his gray eyes 
were glassy in their sockets, his features grew rigid. 

“ Not a minute longer !” the official replied impatiently, 
and beckoned to the police-officers. 

“ Have some pity I” the tortured man gasped out to 
Hilsborn. “ I have taken poison. For humanity’s sake, 
induce him to let me die here with my child.” 

“ Good God I” exclaimed Hilsborn. “ Let instant 
aid ” 

Leuthold clutched his arm, and with a ghastly smile 
whispered, “It will be of no use, my friend 1” 

Hilsborn was horror-struck. “Sir,” he said, “I unite 
my entreaties to those of Herr Gleissert. Allow him to 
remain here only until I have spoken with your chief.” 

“ If the arrest is an unjust one, it will soon be at 
an end. I have nothing to do with that. I must obey 
orders.” 

Hilsborn whispered a few words in his ear, but he 
shrugged his shoulders. “Any man could say that. We 
will stop at a physician’s as we drive past. That is 
not contrary to orders. We must go I” The policemen 
entered. 

Hilsborn whispered to Leuthold, “ I will bring you an 
antidote. I hope, for your child’s sake, that you will take 
it. God have mercy on you I” 

Leuthold would have replied, but a, spasm prevented 
him from uttering a word. 

Hilsborn saw that the poison had already infected the 
blood, and that all aid would come too late. Nevertheless, 
he would do what he could. In pas^sing, he lightly 
touched Gretchen’s shoulder. “ Fraulein Gleissert, your 
father is going. Say one word to him.” 

Gretchen started, as if from a swoon, looked around 
her, and saw Leuthold between the officers. “ Faiher I” 
she shrieked, and rushed towards him. She clasped him 
in her arms, and pressed kiss after kiss upon his blue lips. 
Her cries wrung the souls of the by-standers, and Bertha 
hurried away, that she might not hear them. 

39 


458 ' 


ONLY A GIRL, 


I take back what I said,” Gretchen moaned. “ How 
could I say'l had no father? Now that I am going to lose 
you, I feel that I can never forsake you!” 

Leuthold writhed in agony in her embrace, but he 
managed to speak once more. “ My child,” he gasped 
thickly, “ if there is a God, may He bless you I and when 
you hear that your father took his own life, remember 
that estate, freedom, honour, were gone past recall, but 
that by bis own act he at least avoided a public expo- 
sure.” 

Gretchen gazed at him speechless. She tried to reply, 
but her lips refused her utterance. She only knew that 
her father was taken from her, and that stranger hands 
loosened her frantic clutch of his garments. She heard 
footsteps retreating, a door closed, and there was silence. 
For a few moments she lost consciousness. But other 
noises roui^ed her from the fainting-fit that had brought 
her repose from grief, and recalled her to herself. Were 
the footsteps approaching again ? Yes, they came on to 
the door of her room. What a strange murmur mingled 
with them I She raised her weary head with a mixture 
of fear and hope. 

The door was thrown open as wide as it could go. 
Four men entered, bearing a well-nigh senseless burden. 
Her father had returned to her, — but how ? They laid 
him upon the bed. Gretchen would have thrown herself 
into his arms, but he thrust her from him convulsively, 
for her clasping arms, her loving kiss, were tortures too 
great to be borne. He tried to speak, but in vain. Amidst 
frightful spasms, alternating with utter exhaustion, he 
breathed his last sigh, and his spirit bore its burden of 
guilt to new, unknown spheres of existence. 

He had avoided all “public exposure.” 

But the only judge that he had acknowledged upon 
earth, — his child, — lay crushed at his fee: expiating the 
crimes of the condemned. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


459 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE ORPHAN. 

Day was again mirrored brightly in the waters of the 
Alster, and again the streets swarmed with life. The 
prattle and laughter of children on their way to school, 
the monotonous cries of the street-hawkers, the rattle of 
passing vehicles, were all borne aloft into the quiet 
room where Leuthold had died, and where Gretchen still 
, knelt beside the bed, and, by her constantly recurring 
bursts of grief, showed that the long night had not suf- 
ficed to exhaust the fountains of her tears. Her head lay 
upon the edge of the bed, and her arms were stretched 
across the empty mattress, — for the hosthad insisted upon 
the immediate removal from his house of the body of the 
suicide. But Gretchen could not yet be induced to leave 
the desolate room, the vacant couch. Since she was not 
allowed to follow her father’s corpse, she would at least 
pillow her head where he had lain. She repulsed all her 
mother’s advances. When everything had been done that 
the law requires in such terrible cases, and the officials 
had vacated the apartment, she shot the bolt of the door 
behind them, and thanked God that she was alone with 
her misery, alone by her father’s death-bed. 

What human eye can pierce the depths of a young 
heart lacerated by such anguish ? All that goes on in the 
soul at such moments, when the creature wrestles with 
its Creator, must remain a profound mystery, — a mystery 
known to almost every human being, but never to be re- 
vealed, no mortal language can declare God’s revelations 
to us in our direst need. Experience alone can enlighten 
us, and those who have lived through such a time can 
only clasp the hand of a fellow-sufiferer, and say, “I know 
what it is,’* and henceforth there is a bond between 


460 


ONLY A GIRL; 


them that is none the less close because it can never be 
explained. 

Thus was it with Gretchen and Hilsborn when the 
latter’s low knock at the door aroused the girl from her 
grief, and she arose from her knees and admitted him. 
She put her hand in the one he held out to her, and looked 
confidingly into his serious blue eyes. 

“You never went to bed, dear Fraulein Gleissert,” 
said he. “ 1 can see that.” 

“ How could I rest?” she replied. “They would not 
even let me watch by his body. All that I could do was to 
wake and pray for him here where he drew his last breath. 
How hard it is to have to leave what one has loved so 
dearly, and not to be allowed to cling to it at least until it 
is consigned to the earth I Suppose lie were not quite dead. 
If he should stir, no one will be near to fan the spark of life 
into a flame. If he should open his eyes once more and 

find himself alone, and then die in helpless despair 

Oh, the thought is madness I” 

“I can assure you, Fraulein Gleissert,” said Hilsborn 
quietly, “that your father sleeps peacefully. I did what 
you were not permitted to do, — I spent the night by his 
body.” 

“ Could you do this for the man for whom you could 
have had no regard ?” cried Gretchen. 

“I did it for you. I could imagine all you felt, and I 
knew it would be some comfort to you this morning to 
know that I had done it.” 

“Oh, how can I thank you, sir? I am too childish 
and insignificant to thank you as I ought. My heart is 
filled with gratitude that will not clothe itself in words! 
You watched by my father from pure humanity, — com- 
pelled by no duty, no obligation, — only that you might 
soothe the grief of a poor orphan. I cannot express what 

I feel. You must know ” She could go no further. 

Tears gushed from her eyes. She took his hand, and, 
before he knew what she was doing, had imprinted upon 
it a fervent kiss. 

“Fraulein Gleissert I” cried Hilsborn, in great embar- 
rassment. And a deep blush overspread his cheeks. 

Gretchen never dreamed that she had committed any 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


461 


iirn propriety, — how could she, at such a moment? And 
Hilsborn knew this, and would not shame her by hastily 
withdrawing his hand. She was still but a child, in spite 
of her blooming maidenhood, and the kiss was prompted 
by the purest impulse of her heart. 

“ You reward me far more richly than I deserve,’^ he 
said softly. “ Although it is loug since I suffered the 
same sorrow, I know what it is. Grief for the death of 
my father never deserts me. Sorrow easily unites with 
sorrow, and you are more to me in your affliction than 
any of the gay, laughter-loving girls of my acquaintance. 
Let me do what I can for you, — it will be done with 
my whole heart, — and, for your own sake, do not give 
way to grief. Remember, — it is a melancholy consola- 
tion, nevertheless it is a consolation, — that it is far better 
for him to die before his crime brought its dreadful con- 
sequences. His home could never again have been among 
honourable men. What, then, would have become of 
you ? Believe me, it is better as it is I” 

“ Do you think, then, my father does not deserve these 
tears ? 1 know how great his offences were, and that 

every one is justified in condemning him, — every one but 
his child, — I cannot blame him. Do you think I ought not 
to grieve for him as I should for an honourable father? Ah, 
sir, is it less sad to lose a father thus, just as I was reunited 
to him, to find that he whom I so revered was a criminal, 
and to have him vanish in his sin before I could even 
breathe a prayer to God for mercy upon him ? Whatever 
he may have done, I must mourn for him all the more, 
for he was and always will be my father. And there 
never was a kinder father. Let others curse his memory, 
I can only mourn for him. If the holy words are true, 

‘ With what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you 
again, ^ I must give him nothing but love, for he never 
meted to me anything else. Do not despise me. I do 
not feel his guilt the less, although I cannot love him 
less.” 

Hilsborn looked down at her with admiration. “How 
can you suppose that I could despise this sacred filial 
affection ? 1 respect you all the more for it. It reveals 

in you treasures of womanly tenderness 1 Most cer- 

39* 


462 


ONLY A GIRL; 


tainly he who had such a daughter, and knew how un- 
worthy he was of her, is doubly to be pitied. I will not 
try to console you. You have in yourself a richer con- 
solation than any that mortal words can give. What can 
such a stranger as I say to you or be to you ? I can only 
stand ready to protect and advise you, should you need 
advice or protection.” 

“ If you will be so kind as to direct my first steps in 
life, it lies all so untried before me, my poor father will 
bless you from beyond the gi’ave.” 

She paused, startled, for the door opened hastily, and 
Bertha entered. She regarded her daughter with a satis- 
faction that equalled the aversion that she excited in her 
child. Bertha’s beauty had been of a kind that endures 
only for a season and then gradually becomes a carica- 
ture of its former self. Her fresh colour had turned to 
purple. Her mouth had grown full and sensual, with a 
drooping under-lip. Her sparkling black eyes had receded 
behind her fat cheeks, and had an expression of low cun- 
ning. An immense double chin and a round, waddling 
figure added to the coarseness of her appearance. This 
was the woman who stood ready to claim affection from 
a daughter whose whole education had tended to create 
disgust at her mother’s chief characteristic — coarseness. 
What was this woman to her? She had heard that she 
was her mother, but she had never felt it. She had not 
seen her since she was scarcely five years old. She could 
feel no stirring of affection for. She could hardly con- 
nect her with the image in her mind of her father’s faith- 
less wife. While she was thus regarding Bertha with 
aversion, the man entered the room whom she was hence- 
forward to consider in the light of a father, — her mother’s 
second husband. 

Involuntarily Gretchen retreated a step nearer to Hils- 
born, as if seeking in him a refuge from the pair. 

“ Well,” began Bertha, “if Fraulein Gretel is at home 
to young gentlemen, surely her father and mother ” 

“ Forgive me,” said Gretchen gently but with decision, 
“my father is just dead, and I lost my mother when I 
was very young. I pray you to respect my grief and 
not mention names so sacred to me.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 463 

Just hear the girl !” exclaimed Bertha. “ Instead of 
thanking God that she still has parents to take care of 
her and not feel her a disgrace, she pretends to have no 
other father than the thief, the ” 

“ You must not speak thus in Fraulein GleisserFs 
presence,^’ cried Hilsborn indignantly. “Can you not 
see how you wring her heart V' 

“ Oh, sir, I thank you,” said Gretchen with dignity. 
She turned to Bertha. “ Whatever your unfortunate first 
husband may have been, he was my father in the truest 
sense of the word, and no one can have a second father. 
Just so a mother who has once ceased to be such can 
never be a mother again. Call me false and heartless if 
you will, — God, who sees my heart, knows how it can 
love.” 

“ This is all one gets for kindness,” grumbled Bertha. 
“ Here have I been beating my brains half the night to 
think what I could do for the girl, how I could take care 
of her, and this is all the thanks I get I Well, it’s no won- 
der. ‘ What’s bred in the bone will never come out of 
the flesh.’ ” 

“ Mammy I mammy I they want you to get out some 
clean sheets,” a bullet-headed lad called aloud at the door. 

“Come here, Fritz,” cried Bertha. “There, look at your 
sister.” And she drew the boy towards her, evidently 
expecting the sight of him to produce a deep impression 
upon Gretchen. “ Look, Gretel, this is your brother, — 
doesn’t this touch you ? We have three more of them. 
But that makes no difference, you shall be the fifth; I 
want some one to take care of the little ones. Only think 
how fine it is for you to find parents and brothers and 
sisters all at once. They’ll take care of you.” And sud- 
denly a tear rolled down her fat cheek. “ For you are my 
child, after all !” 

And she took Gretchen’s face between her hands and 
pressed upon it a smacking kiss. The girl patiently en- 
dured the caress, but when her mother released her she 
stood erect again, like a fair flower upon which dust 
has been cast without robbing it of its fragrance or 
soiling its purity. As the flower differs from the soil 
whence it springs, this child differed from her mother. 


464 


ONLY A GIRL; 


And as surely as the flower turns from the ground to the 
sun, the girl’s pure spirit turned from her mother to the 
light that her education and training had revealed to her. 

“ Mammy,” the boy persisted, plucking Bertha by the 
skirts, “come, hurry !” 

“ You’ll tear my dress, you bad boy 1” cried his mother, 
slapping his hand. 

The boy screamed. “ You’re so slow when any one is 
in a hurry, I had to call you.” 

“ Hold your tongue I” his father now interposed. “ Leave 
the room. What will your new sister think of you?” 

“ 1 don’t mind her,” said the boy insolently, as he 
left the room. 

Gretchen and Hilsborn exchanged one long look. It 
was as if they were old acquaintances and could under- 
stand each other without a word. Gretchen shuddered at 
the thought of living in this family, and, besides, she had 
during the night formed a resolution that she was de- 
termined to carry out although it should cost her her 
life. 

Her step-father broke the silence. “We shall never 
come to any conclusion in this way. Where’s the good 
in talking ? You must be taken care of, whether you like 
us or not. You might at least show some gratitude to 
us for taking any trouble about you.” He stroked his 
smooth, oily head as he spoke, and his artistic fingers 
gave a fresh curl to the lock just above his ear. “ The 
case is simply this : My wife thinks it her duty to sup- 
port you. As you may suppose, it comes rather heavy 
upon us with our four children, and it, stands to reason 
that you should do a little something for yourself. We 
will not ask anything unsuitable of you, for I can see 
plainly that you are a young lady of education. But, if 
we are to fulfil the duty of parents towards you, it is 
only fair that we should claim some filial duty from you 
in return.” 

He concluded his speech with the bow that he always 
made in presenting travellers with their little account. 

“Oh, is that all?” said Gretchen, greatly relieved. 
“Then do not have any anxiety on my account. 1 re- 
nounce ail claim to a support, and, in the presence of this 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


465 


witness, to any parental duties from you. I ask nothing 
of you, and shall never ask anything of you, but that you 
will allow me to depart without hindrance.” 

The man looked significantly at Bertha, who clasped 
her hands in amazement. “ Do you want to go, then ? 
Why, what will such a child as you do without money or 
friends 

Here Hilsborn interposed. “You forget that your de- 
ceased husband appointed me bis daughter’s guardian, 
and I assure you solemnly, I have never valued my life 
as I do now that this duty is mine, — a duty that 1 am 
determined not to give up.” 

Gretchen looked confidingly at Hilsborn. “You see, 
I am not without friends. I will go with this gentle- 
man. There is but one path for me in this world, and 
that leads me to Ernestine’s feet. There is but one duty 
for me, — atonement for my father’s sin. I cannot restore 
to Ernestine what has been taken from her, — that I learned 
from the papers yesterday. I can offer her nothing but 
two strong young arms to work for her. The Bible says, 
‘ The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the chil- 
dren,’ but I will not wait until they are visited upon me. 
I will blot them out, as far as I may, and make the curse 
powerless, that rests upon my unhappy father’s grave. I 
will do what he had no time to do here, — make atonement 
for his crime.” She raised her hands to Bertha in en- 
treaty. “Oh, if you are my mother, open your heart to 
the first and last request of your child, and do not take 
from me the hope of obtaining pardon for my father by 
my labour and suffering!” 

And she fell upon her knees before Bertha, who sobbed 
aloud. 

“Ah, Gretel, my child, you are a dear, good girl. 
How could I ever forsake such a true, brave child ? I see 
now how wrong and foolish I was. But I will do better. 
You shall learn to love me again. Only give up this silly 
idea of doing penance for your father. Why should 
you, innocent creature, suffer for his fault? you are not 
responsible for his actions.” 

“ I am bis flesh and blood, a part of him, — his honour 
is mine. The curse that strikes him strikes me too. 


466 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Whatever burdened his conscience weighs upon mine. 
How could I find rest, living or dying, if I did not all 
that I could to make good what he did that was wrong ? 
If he took what was not his, ought I to keep it ? Is it not 
my duty to restore it? And, if I cannot do this, should 
I not try to pay the debt, although I can do so in no 
other way than by constant labour ?” 

“ But tell me what you want to do Your cousin 
has nothing more. What will you both live upon?” 
asked Bertha. 

“ I do not know yet. I only know that, thanks to my 
poor father, 1 have been taught everything to enable me 
to support myself, and even another besides. I only know 
that I will dedicate ray whole future life to Ernestine. I 
long to go to her, — she has suffered most from my father’s 
fault.” 

The head-waiter drew Bertha aside, and whispered to 
her, “ Let her go, be thankful that we have not a fifth 
child to support.” 

“ But, oh, I love the girl so much 1” said Bertha. 

“ That’s all very well, — but are we in a condition to 
take such a charge upon ourselves, just for a whim ? 
And do you suppose that, if we force her to stay, 
this spoiled princess will be of the least use to us? She 
w^ould cry from morning until night, instead of working. 
Let her go wherever she chooses. You have done with- 
out her long enough not to make such a fuss now about 
having her with you. I should think four children 
were enough for you.” 

“ Yes, but ” 

“ Hush, now, or we will leave the room,” her husband 
whispered emphatically. “ I will not burden myself with 
Dr. Grleissert’s daughter against her will. Let her go 
with her new champion, and let us hear no more of her I” 

“As you choose, then. It is my fault, and I must bear 
the consequences,” said Bertha, for the first time with real 
sorrow. 

“ Fraulein Gleissert,” the man said, turning to Gretchen, 
who had meanwhile been talking in a low tone with 
Hilsborn, “ if you wdll not make any claim upon us here- 
after, we are ready now, hard as it is, to relinquish our 


OR A FffFSICIAJ^ FOR THE SOUL. 46 Y 

rights in favour of this gentleman, who was appointed 
your guardian by your father.’^ 

“ 1 will promise never to do so, sir,” replied Gretchen 
with a long sigh of relief “ I am ready to give you all 
the security I can.” 

“ There is no need of that,” replied Herr Meyer politely, 
with great satisfaction. “You know that the giving up 
of our claims depends upon your keeping your promise.” 

“ Yes, I know that.” 

“ Well, then, we will not trouble you further. Proba- 
bly you would prefer settling the account for this room. 
It is not much, — you have eaten nothing.” 

“ Come, that is too mean of you 1” Bertha here inter- 
posed. “ Is my own child to pay for the shelter of this 
roof for one night ? No, I will not have it. Gretel, do 
not listen to him, — you shall have something to eat, too, 
before you go. I am not quite such an unnatural mother. 
And now come, Meyer, you ought to be ashamed of 
playing such a disgraceful part.” 

And half angrily, half good-naturedly, she drew her 
smart husband from the room. 

“ O God, I thank thee I” cried Gretchen from the depths 
of her soul. Suddenly she paused, and reflected with 
evident hesitation and embarrassment. Hilsborn took 
her hand. 

“ Well, my dear little ward, will you not tell me what 
is troubling you ?” 

Gretchen blushed and still hesitated. At last she con- 
quered herself, and confided this grief also to her faithful 
friend. 

“ It has just occurred to me that I am not sure that I 
have money enough to pay my travelling expenses. I 
have something with me that I can sell, but if it should 
not be enough 1” 

Hilsborn smiled. “ Is that all ? Oh, never mind that, 
I have enough for both of us.” 

Gretchen looked mortified. “ But I cannot take it from 
you, certainly not.” 

“ What, Gretchen, will you not take it from your guar- 
dian ? Why, this is a guardian’s duty. And I will not 
give it to you, I will only lend it, and you can repay me 
when you are able.” 


468 


ONLY A GIRL; 


You will have to wait a long time, — I have so little 
that I can call my own. It will embarrass me very much 
to be in your debt.” 

“ Gretchen,” said the young man earnestly, “ do not 

let us speak of such trifles. I transport you to N , 

you transport me to heaven. Which owes most to the 
other — you or I 

Gretchen could not reply. These new, strange words 
bewildered her. The sunlight streaming from them pene- 
trated her heart, crushed by the tempest of grief that 
had swept over it. The blossom opened, — she was no 
louger a child 1 

•She looked down in confusion. Hilsborn too was em- 
barrassed. Neither could immediately recover from a 
certain constraint. 

“ Will you do me a great favour ?” the girl asked at last. 

“ Well 

“ Take me to where my father is lying, and let me bid 
him farewell once more.” 

“ My dear Fraulein Gleissert, I would do so with all 
my heart, but it would take us half an hour to reach the 
house where he lies, and the train starts in three-quarters 
of an hour. If you will remain here another day, I will 
do what you ask.” 

“ No, oh, no I” cried Gretchen in alarm. I would not 
for the world trespass any longer upon Herr Meyer^s hos- 
pitality, or wound my mother’s new-found affection any 
further. It is better to go as quickly as possible. If my 
poor father still sees and hears me, he must know that I 
feel the pain of parting from him thus quite as much as 
if I were allowed to weep beside his lifeless body.” 

“ That is right. Better dwell in thought upon the 
spirit that was all affection for you, than linger beside the 

senseless clay that it informed ” He ceased, for Frau 

Bertha entered with breakfast. She had a black dress 
hanging upon her arm. 

There, Gretel, my dear, is something to eat. I will 
not let you go until you have taken something. And, if 
the gentleman will be kind enough to step out one minute, 
we will try on this dress. You must have some mourn- 
ing, and where else can you get it, poor child ?” 

She spread the table hastily, and Hilsborn left the room. 


OR A FffrSIOIAJV FOR THE SOUL. 


469 


“Now come here, and let us see how this fits. It is 
the very dress that I bought ten years ago, when your 
step-uncle Hartwich died. But it is as good as new. I 
have worn it but little, and, if you put the skirt on over 
the pointed waist, it has quite a modern air. Just look I 
It is not much too large. I was smaller then than I am 
now, and I have taken it in wherever I could. I was 
afraid it would be too big for you. Look at that little 
spot, — that is where you threw your cake into my lap 
when you were a little thing. I hid it so, — ^^in a fold. 
Dear, dear I I had this very dress on when I left you. I 
never thought then that you would one day put it on 
and leave me, as I was leaving you I” 

There was something touching in these simple words, 
and, for the first time, Gretchen threw herself into her 
mother’s arms and burst into tears. “Gretel,” said Ber- 
tha, crying bitterly, “you must one day feel that you are 
my child, just as I feel that I am your mother. I hope 
you will not then repent leaving me.” 

“ Ah, mother,” sobbed Gretchen, “how could you be so 
cruel to my poor father? How could you so wring my 
heart when 1 first saw you again that 1 turned away from 
you? I might have learned to love you. A child must 
try to honour its parents. I would never have reproached 
you for forsaking me, but the abyss into which you 
plunged my father lies between lis, and can never be 
bridged over.” 

“ But, Gretchen, Gretchen,” cried Bertha, “I have done 
no worse than the young gentleman whom you think so 
much of. Why do you not blame him ?” 

“ He only did his duty by a friend, and performed it in 
the kindest way possible. My father saw that, and re- 
posed the greatest confidence in him in intrusting me to 
his care. But you, mother, permitted Herr Meyer to 
bring the stranger here who came to hand over my father 
to punishment, and to whom my father was only the - 
enemy of his friend. It was not his duty to spare my 
father. But, mother, he had once been your husband, he 
was the father of your child, and yet, when, hunted and 
pursued, he sought the shelter of your roof, you had the 
heart to betray him and deliver him up to death and dis- 

40 


4t0 


ONLY A GIRL; 


grace. I will not judge you, but ask yourself, mother, 
did he deserve such treatment at your hands 

“ Ah, merciful Heaven 1 you may be right, but it 
really seemed that it was to be so. I had forgotten 
everything but the wrong he did me. He has had his 
punishment, and I must have mine, for, indeed, to love 
you and lose you so is a heavy trial.’’ 

Hilsborn knocked at the door. “ Frau Meyer, it is 
almost time to go.” 

“Yes, yes. Come in,” cried Bertha. “Gretchen is 
dressed.” 

Hilsborn entered. He regarded compassionately the 
touching figure in the black dress, — the lovely childlike 
face, with those sad, large eyes, reminding him of a 
wounded doe’s. His heart overflowed with pity, and he 
held out his band, with, “ Come, we must be upon our 
way.” 

“ I am ready,” Gretchen murmured. 

“Stop,” cried Bertha. “You must take something 
first.” And she poured out a cup of chocolate, and fol- 
lowed Gretchen, who was collecting her various trifles 
for her travelling-bag, about the room, until she persuaded 
her to take some of it. “And you must eat some of this 
cake. You used to be so fond of it, and your lamented, — 
well, yes, — your lamented father too. Ah, I used to be 
well treated when I put that cake on the table 1 Will 
you not taste it? Well, then, take some with you.” And 
she crammed as much of it as she could into the girl’s 
travelling-bag. 

One minute more, and Gretchen was ready to leave the 
room. “ Good-by, mother,” she said, throwing herself 
once more into the arms of her mother, whose hot tears 
fell upon her child’s neck. “ I will never forget your 
kindness to me to-day, and if you ever need me you will 
find me a daughter to you.” 

“ My child, my good child I” sobbed Bertha. “ Try to 
think as well of me as you can.” 

“ Yes, yes, dear mother. God bless you and yours 1” 

Hilsborn hurried the girl away. She gently extricated 
herself from her mother’s arms, and, in anguish of soul, 
descended the stairs that her father had on the previous 
day ascended for the first and last time. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


4Y1 


“Write to me now and then,” Bertha called after her. 

“ Indeed I will, I promise you.” 

When they reached the hall, they found there a crowd 
of curious idlers, all eager to see the suicide^s daughter. 
Gretcheu paused, overcome with dismay. She could hardly 
trust her limbs to bear her through the throng. A soft, 
warm hand clasped hers, — it was Hilsborn’s. He drew 
the little hand under his arm, and led her through the 
gaping loiterers to the carriage. Gretchen was scarcely 
conscious, she only felt that, supported by this arm, she 
could raise her head once more, and she was filled with 
gratitude towards the man who did not shrink from thus 
espousing the cause of the child of a criminal. 

Herr Meyer made them a formal bow as they entered 
the carriage, and it rolled away past the gay, sparkling 
waters of the Alster, now swarming with boats. 

Gretchen looked out of the carriage -window. Yester- 
day all this had been the world to her, — to-day her world 
was within, and all this was mere outward show. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

BLOSSOMS ON THE BORDER OF THE GRAVE. 

“ Come quick, Johannes, Hilsborn has arrived,” the 
Staatsriithin whispered from the door of the apartment. 
Johannes was seated by Ernestine’s bedside, her head 
leaning upon his hand, while the poor girl moved rest- 
lessly from side to side, muttering unintelligibly. He mo- 
tioned to Willmers to take his place, and went softly out. 

“ Thank God, you are back again. Have you brought 
him with you ?” 

“ He has escaped.” 

“Hilsborn, that is terrible !” 

“ He is gone whither he cannot be pursued, and whence 
he can work no more mischief.” 

“ Is he dead ?” 


472 


ONLY A GIRL; 


** He is dead, and he died in fearful agony. 

“God have mercy on his soul 1 Did he take poison?^ 
asked the Staatsrathin. 

“Yes, just after his arrest. I arranged matters as well 
as I could, but he had only a little over two thousand 
gulden in his possession. He had put all the property 
in the Unkenheim factory.” 

“ And that is bankrupt, so we shall not be able to save 
anything for Ernestine,” said Johannes. 

“ I am very sorry for that.” 

“ But Hilsborn, faithful friend, I am quite forgetting to 
thank you. How shall I repay you for taking this jour- 
ney for me?” said Johannes warmly. 

“ I am already paid.” 

“ Indeed ? What possible pleasure could result from 
such a mission ?” inquired the Staatsrathin. 

Hilsborn smiled. “ Such pleasure as I never dreamed 
of. Gleissert bequeathed me a treasure whose possession 
no one, God willing, shall dispute with me. May I show 
it to you ? I would like to intrust it to your keeping, deal 
friends, for awhile.” 

Johannes and his mother exchanged looks of surprise. 
Was Hilsborn quite right in his mind ? 

“ I will tell you nothing more,” he said. “ See for your- 
selves.” He left the room, and appeared again in a few 
moments with Gretchen upon his arm. The poor child 
ventured only one timid, beseeching look at the strangers, 
but the touching expression of her eyes won their hearts 
immediately. 

“ Good God I his child ?” asked the Staatsrathin. 

“ His child,” Hilsborn replied with grave emphasis. 

The old lady went up instantly to the lovely, shrinking 
girl and embraced her, saying significantly to Hilsborn, 
“ Now I understand you I” 

“Dear Fraulein Gleissert,” said Johannes, “you are 
most welcome, and you must allow us to offer you a 
home until you find a better.” 

“You are too kind,” stammered Gretchen. “ I know 
how bold I am, but my guardian ” 

“What I Hilsborn. are you her guardian ?” 

“ Her dying father wished it to be so, and there- 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


473 


fore I brought her here to place her under your pro- 
tection, although she wished to see no one except 
Ernestine.” 

“ She can hardly see her for sometime yet,” said Mdll- 
ner. “ Ernestine’s fever may be infectious.” 

“ Oh, is that all ?” Gretchen ventured to remonstrate. 
“ Then pray let me go to her. Nothing can harm me 
when I am doing my duty. Better to die than live on 
without being permitted to do as I know I ought. Oh, 
dear Herr Hilsborn, you know what I mean, speak for 
me !” 

“ Do not refuse her, Johannes. She will not be con- 
tent until she is with Ernestine. I make a fearful sacrifice 
in exposing her to this danger, when I would guard her 
like the apple of my eye, but I know how she is longing 
for Ernestine.” 

“ Then, Fraulein Gleissert, you shall share with my 
mother the care of the invalid.” 

“ Thank you all a thousand times I May I go now ?” 

“ Take her to Ernestine’s room, mother dear, while I 
speak with Hilsborn,” said Johannes. 

“ Come, then, my child.” The Staatsriithin opened the 
door of the darkened apartment, and the girl entered. 

Gretchen stood as if rooted to the spot. There lay the 
dreaded, mute accuser of her father, the unfortunate vic- 
tim of his crimes, pale and beautiful as an ideal embodi- 
ment of death, — a glorious lily, prostrated, perhaps never 
again to stand erect, by the same hand that a few days 
before had been laid in blessing upon Gretchen’s head. 
The poor child, crushed by the sight, sank upon her 
knees, and, extending her arms, cried in a suppressed 
voice of agony, “ Forgive, forgive !” 

Ernestine did not reply, for she did not hear. Reason 
was dethroned behind that pale, broad brow, and confused 
dreams were running riot there in the wildest anarchy. 

Only when Gretchen perceived that Ernestine was 
wholly unconscious, did she dare to approach close to 
her. Gazing at her with admiring pity, she murmured 
to herself, “ No, my father did not understand, or he ma- 
ligned you. You are not bad, you cannot be bad I” And, 
kneeling, she breathed a gentle kiss upon the small band. 


4^4 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Did the invalid feel that something loving was near? 
She put out her hand towards the kneeling girl, and, 
detaining her by the dress, leaned her head upon her 
shoulder. 

“ She will let me stay by her,” whispered Gretchen with 
a face of delight. 

The Staatsriithin could not help stroking the brow of 
the eharniing child, and Frau Willmers felt as if this stran- 
ger were an angel, come to lead Ernestine into a better 
world. 

“ Such a sick-room I like to see,” suddenly said a sup- 
pressed bass voice that made Gretchen start. “ This is a 
pretty sight,” it continued, and old Heim looked search- 
ingly at Gretchen from beneath his bushy white eye- 
brows. 

The girl would have arisen, but Ernestine would not 
release her, and Heim motioned to her to be quiet. “ You 
have one hand free, my child, give it to me. I am your guar- 
dian’s foster-father, and I know what a good child you 
are. The fellow was right to bring you here, — I would 
have brought you myself. God bless you I” 

He seated himself by the bedside, and a deep ex- 
pectant silence reigned in the room as he felt Ernes- 
tine’s pulse. Besides Gretchen’s, two other anxious eyes 
were riveted upon his face. Mollner had just entered 
noiselessly. “ Well, what do you think?” he asked eagerly. 

Heim shrugged his shoulders. “ I do not think it is 
typhus. Nevertheless ” 

Scarcely had the invalid heard Johannes’ voice when 
she released Gretchen and turned her face towards the 
spot where Mollner was standing. He approached the 
bed and leaned over her. She put out her arms to him, 
but instantly dropped them again, as if, even in her de- 
lirium, she would not confess herself conquered. And 
then she talked wildly on, at times declaring that she 
could not get rid of the skull, — it would follow her 
everywhere, and then pleading piteously that she was 
not yet dead, and they must not put her down into the 
narrow grave. 

“ This is the result of a woman’s giving herself i*p 
to anatomical studies,” said Mollner. 


t 


OR A FHTSICIAIf FOR TEE SOUL. 4Y5 

“ There has been dreadful work with the nerves here, 
and with the brain too,’^ muttered Heim. “The fever has 
increased since I have been sitting here. If we could 
only disabuse her mind of these delirious fancies 1” 

“ I have tried that, but contradiction only excites her.’^ 

“ Let this child try, then. It is impossible to say 
what effect she might produce,” said Heim. “ Have you 
the courage, my child, to watch with your cousin to- 
night?” 

“ Oh, sir, I think I can never touch my bed until Er- 
nestine has left hers.” 

“There’s a brave girl! upon my word, IVe seen no- 
thing so charming for a long while. She will soon rival 
Ernestine in my heart 

Johannes laid a cloth dipped in ice-water upon Ernes- 
tine’s forehead, who continued to moan bitterly that she 
was not dead and they must not treat her thus. 

“ Ernestine,” said Gretchen in her clear, bell-like voice, 
“ no one shall harm you. Be quiet, dear.” 

“Do you not see,” wailed the sick girl, “that they are 
trying to weigh my brain? and it hurts! oh, how it hurts!” 

“ Ernestine, you are dreaming,” said Gretchen. “ This 
is only a damp cloth. Feel it yourself.” 

“ Remember that, although I am dead, my soul is 
living. Oh, if I could only stop thinking ! Dying is 
nothing! living is the worst of all!” 

Johannes turned away, and wrung his hands. “Ah, 
Johannes!” she exclaimed, “my uncle’s knife is sharp, I 
cannot get away. Why did they bind me here, if they 
thought me dead ?” And in an instant she thrust 
Gretchen aside, and would have leaped from the bed, 
had not Johannes gently but firmly thrown his strong 
arm around her and forced her back among the pillows. 

“ Let me go ! let go !” she moaned. “ Who ever heard 
of dissection before death ?” 

“ Ernestine,” Johannes cried in despair, “it is I, — Jo- 
hannes. No one shall harm you!” 

But she either did not hear or did not understand him, 
and she struggled so that Johannes could scarcely bold 
her. 

“ This is dreadful I” said the Staatsrathin, supporting 


476 


ONLY A OIRL; 


Gretchen’s tottering form. ‘‘Do you still think, Father 
Heim, after this, that physiology is the study for a 
woman’s nerves? Can a woman’s nature take a more 
terrible revenge than this?” 

Heim shook bis head, and grumbled, “Frail stuff, in- 
deed, but yet I thought she could stand it. Well, well, 
one is never too old to learn.” 

And still Ernestine raved on, ceaselessly haunted by 
the same grim phantoms created by the fearful struggle 
that she had lately passed through. 

At last exhaustion supervened, and she lay perfectly 
silent and motionless. Heim took his hat and cane. “I 
think she will have a quieter night. You should take 
some rest, Johannes. You cannot stand such uninter- 
rupted watching.” 

“ 1 have done all that I could to persuade him to lie 
down,” said his mother. “ I can easily watch one night, 
especially now since I have such a dear little assistant. 
And Willmers too will wear herself out. She is as ob- 
stinate as Johannes.” 

“There is nothing to be done with him,” said Heim. 
“It is a good thing that it is vacation, or this would soon 
come to an end. Well, I must go. It is quite a drive 
to town.” 

“It would have been better if we could have taken her 
home with us,” said the Staatsriithin. “But the illness 
was so sudden and violent that she could not be moved, 
and we had to come out here to nurse her.” 

“ You are good people I” And Heim held out his hand 
to them. “ God will reward you for your kindness to the 
poor child.” 

“ All that I do, dear friend, is done for pay son’s sake. 
I am sure he will thank me.” 

“ Indeed he will, mother,” Johannes declared with em- 
phasis. 

When Heim entered the next room, he found Hils- 
born there, standing at the window, lost in dreamy 
reverie. 

“Well, ray boy, will you have a seat in my carriage?” 

“Why, father, I should like to stay here to-day and 
assist Mollner,” said Hilsborn, slightly confused. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


417 


“Assist Mollner? Hm ” Heim paused, and riv- 

eted his piercing eyes 'With infinite humour upon Hils- 
born’s blushing face. “Well, well, my boy, since you 
wish it, pray assist Mollner. You have my free consent 
to do so.” 

The young man clasped his foster-father’s hand with an 
emotion of gratitude that he hardly understood himself 

“ Hm,” said Heim again. “ We understand I we un- 
derstand ! All right! Anything else would be unnatu- 
ral. There’s no need to be ashamed of your choice. 
Good night, and” — a good-humoured smile played about 
his mouth — “do assist Mollner diligently. Do you 
hear ?” 

And the genial old man went chuckling out of the room. 

Hilsborn bethought himself awhile, then looked cau- 
tiously into the sick-room and beckoned to Gretchen. She 
instantly came to him. 

“ Only a moment,” he begged, and gently drew her 
away with him. “You must have a little fresh air. All 
the others think only of Ernestine. I am here to take 
care of you, and to see that you do not overtask your 
strength. Come, take a few turns with me in the garden.” 

“As you please,” said the girl meekly. 

“Not as I please, Gretchen. You must not talk in 
that way. I do not like it.” He threw a shawl over her 
shoulders, and gave her his arm. Together they went 
down into the garden. 

“This garden,” said Gretchen, “ reminds me of ours at 
the pension.” 

“Were you happy there?” asked her companion. 

“Oh, very! 1 had so many kind teachers and com- 
panions !” 

“It must be very hard for you to leave such a home.” 

“My home now is with Ernestine. I am content only 
by her bedside. I wish for nothing else. I do not choose 
to wish for anything else.” 

Hilsborn broke off a fading acacia-sprig from the tree. 

“ Give it to me ?” said Gretchen. “ I will try 
whether Ernestine will recover or not.” And she pulled 
off the leaves, one after another. “Yes, — no, — ^yes, — no. 
Yes, she will get well 1” 


m 


ONLY A GIRL; 


** Do you know Faust ?” 

“ No. We were never allowed to read Goethe.” 

“Your namesake in Faust plucks ofif the leaves of a 
daisy, to answer a question that she puts it, but the 
question is a different one.” 

“ What is it?” 

“ She asks whether she is beloved.” 

Gretchen looked down. 

“ Did you never put that question ?” 

“ How could I ? I was sure that my father, my teach- 
ers and friends loved me, and I knew no one else.” 

“And yet you must often have consulted your flower 
oracle?” 

“ Oh, yes. There was plenty to ask, — whether I was to 
take the first, second, or third rank in the examination, — 
whether I was to have a letter from my father that day, 
— and ever so many things besides- But that is all over. 
There are few flowers or questions for me now.” 

“ You must not indulge such gloomy, autumnal fancies. 
The flowers will bloom again, and with them many a 
youthful hope in your heart. You will, perhaps, one day 
want to know whether one whom you love loves you.” 

Gretchen looked seriously and kindly at him from out 
her brown eyes. 

“If Ernestine only loves me, and ” 

“ Well, and ?” 

“ And you, I will ask nothing more.” 

“Gretchen, do you not believe that I love you ?” 

“Yes, I think you do,” the girl replied frankly. 

“ By the good God, who sees all hearts, 1 think so too,” 
cried Hilsborn, clasping the little hand that lay upon his 
arm more closely to his heart. 

They stood still for one moment together in the gather- 
ing twilight, and then walked slowly on. It was an un- 
usually mild autumn evening. The crescent of the new 
moon glimmered, like agleaming diamond upon dark locks, 
just above the tall firs that crowned the hill that had been 
Ernestine’s favourite spot. As she looked up, Gretchen’s 
eyes were moist. 

“The moon is the sun of the unhappy,” she said sud- 
denly. “ Hers is the only light that weeping eyes can 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


479 


endure. They must close in the garish rays of the sun, 
but they can look up to her through their tears. When 
she reigns in the sky, repose comes to the weary after the 
day’s dull pain. And you, my kind guardian, seem to 
me like the moon, — you are so calm and still. I shrink 
from the others, it seems to me they must despise me, 
but with you I can weep freely, and rest from all my 
pain.” 

“I thank you, Gretchen, for these words,” said Hils- 
born. 

And the girl, in the self-abandonment of her grief, 
leaned her head upon Hilsborn’s shoulder and wept si- 
lently. 

Thus they Avalked slowly on for a time, without a word. 
The moon began to disappear behind the firs, and only 
gleamed through them when the night breeze stirred 
their boughs. A lovy whisper, — a soft suggestion of the 
resurrection, — trembled among the withered leaves and 
leafless branches. The little silver skiff glided quietly 
down the horizon, and misty vapours floated about the 
youthful pair like a bridal veil. Their innocent hearts 
mourned over scarcely-closed graves in the midst of na- 
ture, enlivened by no young blossoms, no nightingale’s 
song, and yet a future spring was gently stirring around 
and within them, amid tears and autumn desolation. 

“ We must return,” said Gretchen, suddenly rousing 
herself from her sad thoughts. “ They will miss us.” 
And she hastened on in advance of her friend. At the 
door of the sick-room he detained her for one moment. 
“ Gretchen, you have done more than I can tell for me in 
this last half-hour, but yet not enough. You will give 
me just such another every evening, will you not?” 

“ With all my heart I” 

“And, Gretchen, I shall pass this night watching here 
in this room. Come to the door now and then, and give 
me one look.” 

“Why?” she asked, with a blush. 

“ Because your face is the dearest sight in the world to 
me.” 

“Oh, I am glad of that!” she faltered. 

“Remember sometimes to give me a smile, — will you 


480 


ONLY A GIRL ; 


not? I shall wait for it from minute to minute and from 
hour to hour.” 

“You shall not wait in vain. How could I refuse to 
gratify a wish of yours?” 

And with these words, that were more to the young 
man than she herself dreamed of, she left him, and en- 
tered the sick-room with her heart filled with mingled joy 
and pain. 

Johannes was kneeling by the bed, his forehead leaning 
upon Ernestine’s arm, that was hanging down outside the 
coverlet. His mother gave Gretchen a kindly nod. No 
one ventured to speak. Ernestine seemed asleep. 

Gretchen sat down beside the Staatsrathin and grate- 
fully pressed her offered hand. 

Thus they sat for an hour, motionless, and then Ernes- 
tine had a fresh access of delirium. Her whole illness 
seemed to be only a vain effort of nature to banish the 
evil, unnatural ideas nestling in her brain like destructive 
parasites. At last Johannes induced his mother and 
Willmers to take a little rest while he and Gretchen 
watched. He suffered so much at the sight of Ernestine’s 
sufferings that it was a relief to him to know that his 
mother was not in the room, — his mother, in whose pres- 
ence his affection forced him to exercise such difficult 
self-control. 

Gretchen was a faithful assistant, although the poor 
child’s heart was well-nigh broken at the constant refer- 
ence to her father that filled Ernestine's ravings. Frag- 
ments of the past were brought to light, detached scenes 
rehearsed incoherently, but running through all the un- 
fortunate daughter could perceive the dark crimson thread 
of her father’s guilt. 

The hot tears coursed down her cheeks. Johannes 
never noticed them He had eyes and ears only for Er- 
nestine. The poor orphaned child felt alone indeed. But 
no! How could she entertain such a thought? Had she 
not a friend and protector near ? And had she not prom- 
ised to bestow a kindly glance now and then upon the 
faithful sentinel? How could she forget him for one mo- 
ment? While Johannes stood by Ernestine, she softly 
opened the door and looked out. There he sat, his eyes 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


481 


full of expectation, and a bright smile broke over his 
face at the sight of Gretchen. He started up and tore a 
leaf, upon which he had been writing, out of his note-book. 

“Gretchen,” he whispered, “ here is something for you. 
Take it, as it is meant, — kindly. You are having a hard 
night. I can imagine all you are suffering. Do not for- 
get that there is one sitting here thinking of and for you.” 

Gretchen held out her hand, and he put the paper into it. 

“ I thank you, even before I know what it contains,” 
she whispered in reply. “It must be something kind, 
since it comes from you.” And she re-entered the sick- 
room and seated herself by the table upon which the 
night-lamp stood. She shivered, for Ernestine’s words 
were all full of horror. But she held a talisman in her 
hand, and Hilsborn’s handwriting banished all haunting 
sorrow. She unfolded the paper and read; 

“Weep, poor heart, and yet again 
Breathe those gentle songs of sadness, 

Not for thee are notes of gladness. 

Softly fall thy tears like rain. 

Look to heaven when woes thus move thee, 

From the eternal stars above thee 
Comfort seek in earthly pain. 

“Weep, poor heart, when all in vain 
Thou hast hoped for rest from sadness, 

When the stars rain down no gladness. 

Yet despair not ! once again 

Lift thine eyes when sorrow moves thee. 

In the eyes of one who loves thee. 

Comfort seek in earthly pain.” 

Gretchen sat with hands folded, looking at these words, 
that arched a new heaven above her and revealed a new 
earth around her. Large as her young heart was, it 
seemed all too narrow for the flood of tenderness that 
filled it now. She arose once more, and glided from the 
room. To Johannes, who gazed after her absently, it 
seemed as if her airy figure actually difiused a light 
around it. 

Ill the next room she approached Hilsborn, silently, 
her eyes suffused with tears, and held out her hand. He 
looked up at her with imploring entieaty, saw how she 
was a^ntated, and that her heart was beating almost to 

41 


482 


ONLY A ^IRL; 


suffocation. He gently drew her nearer and nearer to 
him, until, like ripened wheat awaiting the reaper’s scythe, 
she sank into his arms, and burst into tears. But her 
tears were like the glittering drops that the breeze shakes 
from the trees after a iiummer rain. 

“ In the eyes of one who loves thee, 

Comfort seek in earthly pain/’ 

echoed in the hearts of the lovers. 

Then Ernestine's voice came ringing through the open 
door. “ What is the end? Eternal night, eternal silence, 
and eternal solitude I” 

“ Oh, no I eternal bliss I” Gretchen breathed softly t^ 
herself. 


CHAPTER IX. 

IT IS MORNING AGAIN. 

A CALL from Mollner to Gretchen separated the 
young people before they found words to express what 
they felt. Ernestine grew so much worse in the course 
of the night that Gretchen did not leave her again. When 
at last the rays of the rising sun shone through the 
heavy curtains of the room, the Staatsriithin released the 
poor child from her painful watch, and she was free to 
hasten to her lover. He drew her with him to Ernes- 
tine’s study. Everything was just as it had been left on 
the day when Ernestine was taken ill, — nothing had been 
touched here. The ashes of the burnt fairy-book were 
still lying on the hearth, the -Holian harp breathed forth 
sad melody to the rude autumn wind, the roses were 
fled, and only the thorn-covered bushes remained. The 
chests were still standing about, all packed for the voy- 
age. — speaking plainly of what had been the plans of the 
uroud spirit now so prostrated by disease. A forgotten 
pen lay upon the desk, and dust was everywhere. Xo one 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


483 


had thought of arranging this room, — care for Ernes- 
tine had given abundant occupation to the entire house- 
hold. The pause in the life of the invalid was mirrored 
in this apartment, where everything seemed awaiting the 
moment when a busy hand should sweep, dust, and put 
all in order, and the glad news be heard — “Ernestine is 
better 1’^ But this moment was still in the dim future. 
Hither the young couple came, ignorant of the struggles 
these walls had witnessed, the pain and anguish that had 
been suffered here. 

“ Our life lasts seventy — perhaps eighty — years, and 
the delight of it is labour and trouble.” These words, 
carved on the table, were the first visible sign to these 
youthful hearts of the struggles, sufferings, and sacri- 
fices of the woman by whose feverish bed they had 
truly found each other. And Gretchen stayed her 
steps by the table, and read the words thoughtfully. 
“ She is right,” she said to herself. “And if she chose to 
impose upon herself this severe law, can I choose any 
other motto — I ? What right have I to desire any other 
delight in life but labour and trouble and penance? Ah, 
Ernestine, now first I see how noble you are, and what 
wrong my father did you.” 

“ Gretchen,” asked Hilsborn, “ what are you thinking?” 

“It seems to me as if an invisible hand here inscribed, 
‘ Hold I’ for my eyes alone. How could I for one mo- 
ment resign myself to the thought of a happiness that 
could turn me aside from my first and most sacred duty?” 

“Gretchen, how am I to understand you ?” 

She clasped her hands, and, with eyes fixed reveren- 
tially upon the carved motto, said, “All my hopes and 
dreams must be sacrificed for her whose motto this is. 
Until she is happy, how can I wish to be so?” 

“ I see what you have resolved, my dearest. You in- 
tend to obtain forgiveness for your father, to blot out his 
sin by your devotion. But you think only of her against 
whom your father sinned most heavily ? There is another 
to whom you owe some reparation on his account, and 
that is myself I” 

“What?” 

He drew her towards him, and went on with all a lover^s 


484 


ONLY A GIRL; 


sophistry. “ Yes, dearest, your father wronged mine. He 
robbed him of a valuable scientific discovery.” 

“ Heaven help me I is this so cried the girl, greatly 
distressed. 

“And do you not see that it will be no infringement 
of the duty that you impose upon yourself, if you grant 
me the reparation that I ask of you, even although I 
should ask for nothing less than yourself, — your entire 
life, Gretchen, — would you think me too bold ? would 
you think the compensation for what your father deprived 
me of too great V 

“No, oh, no! much too small,” whispered Gretchen, 
with glistening eyes. 

“Not too small. I know it is too great. But love, 
Gretchen, will not weigh deserts. Everything is in your 
hands, dearest. Your father injured my father, but he 
gives me his child.” 

The girl put her hands to her throbbing brow. “ Can 
this be so? — can so great a blessing spring from a curse ? 
I do not deserve such joy. Can it be no wrong, but a 
duty, to love you, whom I would have renounced for 
duty’s sake ? I longed to labour and suffer for my father’s 
crime, and is this my penance — to give myself to him whom 
I love ? It is too much, — I cannot believe it. But what 
shall I do ? How shall I reconcile my duty to Ernestine 
and to you? Help me, advise me, that I may not neglect 
one duty for the sake of the other, — there can be no true 
happiness without a clear conscience. Help me, then, to 
be really happy.” 

“My darling,” said Hilsborn, “I understand you now, 
just as I have always understood you, and I will help you to 
satisfy your conscience. If I could, I would shower every 
precious gift upon you, — how then could I deprive you 
of that priceless possession — peace of mind? True love 
brings true peace in its train, and this peace shall be yours. 
Therefore do for Ernestine all that your heart dictates, as 
long as you can be of service to her. I shall be near 
you, and we can at least exchange a word now and then. 
True love is easily content, it prizes even the smallest 
token, I will not claim one moment that you think be- 
longs to Ernestine, — that would trouble you. We will tell 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 485 

no one as yet of our betrothal but my faithful foster- 
father Heim, without whose blessing 1 can take no step 
in life. The knowledge of our happiness might grate 
upon poor Mdllner, who has so much to endure. But 
when, Gretchen, Ernestine has entirely recovered, it will 
be ours to enjoy our bliss without a pang. And if, — which 
I can scarcely believe, — she should still refuse to share 
Mdlluer’s lot, then, I swear to you, I will aid you truly 
in all that you do for her. She shall live with us and be 
to me as a sister. Is not this all that you desire, my 
dearest one 

“Yes, yes, you read my very soul, for I could never 
consent to be your — wife, until I knew that Ernestine 
was well and content. And I have hardly thought myself 
grown up — I am hardly fit to be a wife. How can 1 ac- 
custom myself to the thought 

“I will do all I can to teach you, dear little wife, — 
the lesson will not, I hope, be hard to learn,’' said Hils- 
born gaily. 

“ Perhaps not,” Gretchen replied, and for the first 
time there was an arch sparkle in the melancholy brown 
eyes. 

Thus these two hearts were united, speedily, in child- 
like faith, after the manner of youth, and without a strug- 
gle. But above in the sick-room two hearts were wrest- 
ling in mortal pain. Love, for poor Ernestine, must attain 
the light only through the dark night of error and illu- 
sion that was around her, — that light in which Gretchen 
and Hilsborn innocently basked, driven from their Eden 
by no angel with the flaming sword. Such strong natures 
as Molluer’s and Ernestine’s could not unite without a 
struggle. Each had framed a world for itself, and one 
of these worlds must be shattered before they could 
become one world. The farther apart they were, the 
more powerful the attraction between them, the more 
certainly would the weaker crumble to pieces in con- 
tact with the stronger. It is the mysterious condition 
under which gifted natures receive their talents from God, 
that they must strive and labour for a happiness that 
often falls unsought into the lap of weaker natures. 
Thus Eternal Wisdom maintains the balance of its gifts, 
41 * 


486 


ONLY A GIRL; 


— the weak and the simple receive without asking what the 
strong must earn. And these two gifted creatures were 
earning hardly their portion of life’s joy, that they might 
fulfil the law prescribed by God for creatures so consti- 
tuted. His laws are inscribed not upon the heavens, 
but in the human heart, and all our striving for perfec- 
tion is, in fact, only an endeavour to read these laws cor- 
rectly. And how often do we read them falsely, in spite 
of all our honest pains I 

How much more was this the case with one like Ernes- 
tine, who had never been taught to heed the still small 
voice in her heart as the voice of God I All her errors 
and sufferings were the result, as are those of most men, 
of a misconception of the Divine will. If she had known 
that she was destined to purchase happiness by self-sacri- 
fice, she would have paid for it voluntarily, and would not 
have wrestled with her destiny to the last, until she 
almost succumbed in the conflict. Her life had well- 
nigh been ruined by the want of true Christian culture ; 
she was ready to make every sacrifice, except that which 
is alone well pleasing iu God’s sight — the sacrifice of 
self. 

And Johannes, true and without guile as he was, en- 
dured a terrible trial in Ernestine’s sufferings. From 
hour to hour he became more thoroughly convinced that 
he had been the means of prostrating Ernestine upon a 
sick-bed, — that he had burdened her beyond her strength 
by his reckless description of the danger that threatened 
her, — and he was a prey to remorse. He reproached him- 
self bitterly, and tormented himself with devising a thou- 
sand ways in which he could have managed matters more 
wisely. “ It is presumptuous to attempt to play the part 
of Providence to another, for the best intentions are no 
warrant for the consequences,” he said to his mother, 
just when Gretchen and Hilsborn were weaving their 
rosy future. 

“ Results are always in God s hand,” replied Frau 
Mdllner. 

“Amen !” said Johannes solemnly, from the depths of 
his tortured heart. 

Thus the pilot, seeing looming before him the dangerous 


OR A PHYSICIAN' FOR THE SOUL. 


48T 


rock, past which his skill has not availed to guide the 
vessel intrusted to his care, says, “I have done wbat I 
could, now Providence takes the helm.” And here too 
Providence was guiding the vessel, but slowly, — so slowly 
that the lookers-on were agonized. 

Day after day and week after week passed, without any 
visible improvement. Ernestine’s consciousness did not 
return. Heim shook his head. He said to Johannes one 
morning, “I wish your brother-in-law were at home, 
Johannes. I should very much like to hear his opinion 
of the case.” 

And he made no other reply to Johannes’ inquiries. 

Moritz Kern and his wife had been employing the va- 
cation in a pleasure-trip, and were shortly to return home. 

It looked as if Heim were coming to a conclusion, and 
did not wish to pronounce an opinion without consulting 
a third authority. 

Johannes was consumed by anxiety. For four weeks 
he never left Ernestine’s bedside, only sleeping when she 
was quiet, and then with his weary head supported 
against the back of his chair. He would have no help, 
except-from his mother and Gretchen. Even Willmers 
was not allowed to do all that she wished to do. Only 
one stranger was now and then admitted to the sick-room, 
— a venerable, aged form, that sat there motionless, dis- 
turbing no one. It was old Leonhardt. Every third day 
his son conducted him to the castle, and no one had the 
heart to refuse to allow him to take his place at the foot 
of Ernestine’s bed, where he listened to her gloomy 
ravings and Mdllner’s deep-drawn sighs, and only now 
and then sadly shook his gray head. 

“ If she would only come to herself sufficiently,” he 
said one day, “to let us relieve her mind of this anxiety 
about dying, that seems at the root of her delirium; she 
would soon be better.” 

“ True, Father Leonhardt, true,” replied Johannes. 
“ But she has not one sane instant. It drives me to 
despair I” 

“ Courage, courage, dear friend,” said Leonhardt, “ and, 
remember, you only did your duty. That thought must 
comfort you.” 


488 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ I am afraid it will not comfort me long,” was Jo- 
hannes’ gloomy reply. 

While they were speaking, Heim’s carriage drove up. 
This time he was not alone, — Moritz was with him. 
Leonhardt retired to the library, where Walter always 
awaited him, and Heim and Moritz entered the ante- 
chamber. Gretchen and Hilsborn were standing whis- 
pering together by the window. The former hastily left 
the room, embarrassed by the entrance of the stranger 
with Heim. 

“Who the deuce is your pretty companion?” asked 
Moritz in surprise. 

“ It is my ward, Gleissert’s unfortunate daughter,’^ 
Hilsborn explained with some reserve. “ I brought her 
hither from Hamburg.” 

“Oh, 1 know, I know, — heard all about it. Guardian, 
then, are you ? Very delightful position, with such a 
charming ward,” laughed Moritz. “Here’s a fellow I 
looks as if he couldn’t say ‘ boh ’ to a goose, and brings 
home such a pretty girl the first journey he takes I Yes, 
yes, — ‘ still waters I”’ 

“ Do not jest,” Hilsborn begged. “It is too serious a 
matter for jesting.” 

“Hay, never mind what I say,” said Moritz. “I must 
pay some respect to your new dignity. Hardly out of 
leading-strings yourself, and appointed guardian to young 
unprotected females! Ha! ha!” 

“Be quiet, Johannes will hear you,” grumbled Heim. 
“Reserve your jests for more congenial society.” 

“ But, my good friend, you cannot expect me to bang 
my head for the sake of that fool of a woman, whom I 
have always wished at the deuce. Who could see, with- 
out getting angry, that fellow Johannes wasting his best 
powers upon such an ungrateful creature ? If we were 
compelled to stand by and look on while some one spent 
time and trouble in trying to make a common brier pro- 
duce tea-roses, should we not long to root out the sense- 
less weed, rather than witness such a foolish undertaking?” 

“Your comparison does not hold good, my friend. 
The Hartwich has her thorns, but with care and patience 
she will blossom into a beautiful flower.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FQR TEE SOUL. 


489 


“Are you never coming in ?” asked Johannes, opening 
ihe door of the sick-room and looking out impatiently. 
“ What keeps you so long?” 

“Yes, we are coming,” said Heim, “but, Johannes, I 
would rather see Ernestine alone with Moritz.” 

“ As you please, but pray make haste,” said Johannes, 
coming fully into the room. “ Good-day, Moritz. How 
are you ? Did you not bring Angelika with you?” 

“ She wanted to come with me, but I would not let her.” 

“ And why not?” asked Johannes in a tone of disap- 
pointment. 

“ Because women are always in the way at such times.” 

“ But had you any right to refuse to allow your wife 
to see her mother and brother after a separation of four 
weeks ?” 

“ I have the right, as her husband, to allow and forbid 
whatever I choose. If you wished it otherwise, you should 
have had it so said in the marriage contract,” Moritz 
replied sharply. “ Angelika never wishes for anything 
that I do not choose she should have, and whoever does 
not train his wife in the same way is a fool, my dear 
brother-in-law. Come, don’t be vexed — you know what 
a prickly fellow I am.” 

“ I am not in the mood to mind your insinuations,” 
said Johannes wearily. “ You war with an unarmed foe. 
Go in, and bring me some good news if you can.” 

Moritz repented his hasty words when he saw how 
troubled Johannes really was, and immediately entreed 
the sick-room with Heim. 

Johannes sank into the chair by the window and leaned 
his heavy head against the panes. Such terrible thoughts 
and fears had lately assailed him ! He would not heed 
them. But if the two physicians should share them also ? 
His heart beat louder and louder with every moment’s 
delay. He could hardly breathe. Hilsborn stood beside 
him, and, without speaking, pressed his hand. They 
heard Moritz speak to Ernestine, and her wild, confused 
replies. Then the murmur of Heim’s and Moritz’s voices 
was alone audible. 

At last the door opened. Even Moritz looked very 
grave. 


490 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“Well?” asked Johannes. 

“Yes,” said Moritz with a shrug, “I agree with 
Heim, the fever is a secondary consideration now. It is 
subdued — there is something worse than death to be 
dreaded.” 

“Ah! I feared it!” Johannes said with a low sup- 
pressed cry. “ Be brief, — I am upon the rack — you fear 
— good God ! you fear for her mind ?” 

He could say no more. 

Moritz and Heim exchanged glances. “ Be calm, 
Johannes. Remember, this is only conjecture. We are 
mortal, and cannot be certain. Only it cannot be denied 
that it looks now more like an affection of the brain than 
anything else.” 

“It is a well-known fact,” Heim continued, “that 
patients affected in this manner are often slightly deranged 
in mind for some time after the fever is subdued, but 
such cases are most frequent among the aged, and the 
derangement is not of as long duration as with Ernestine. 
Her continual harping upon the same idea troubled me 
from the beginning, — it was like monomania, — always 
her death and a terrible eternity ensuing upon it. She 
must have pondered upon it far too much lately, — it has 
grown to be a fixed idea. . If there are not shortly signs 
of returning reason, I am afraid she will be ” 

“Insane!” Johannes completed the sentence — “oh! — 
insane !” He buried his face in his hands, in an agony 
that convulsed his whole frame. 

Moritz laid his hand upon his shoulder. “ Johannes,” 
he said, “be strong. For years we have looked to you, 
in joy and sorrow, as the very ideal of manly self-control 
and firm determination. Your example has shown us 
the true dignity of manhood, — and shall pain upon a 
woman’s account have power to move you thus? No 
indeed ! she is not worth it. Ten of these fools are not 
worth one throb of agony in such a man !” 

“ Do not speak to me. Leave me, I pray you, to my- 
self,” cried Johannes. 

“ We had better go,” said Heim. “ He will soon come 
to himself” 

“Good-by, Johannes,” Moritz said, pressing his hand. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


491 


‘‘And listen — open the shutters in Ernestine’s room. 
Speak to her, call to her. It is not good for her to be in 
that gloomy twilight. It is a case where you must try 
to awaken reason — not let it smoulder away with too 
much care and nursing. Some convalescents would never 
leave their beds if they were not driven from them, 
because they are too weak to exert themselves. And it is 
just so with a diseased brain. The mind must be helped 
upon its feet, especially with women, who are only too 
ready to let themselves go.” 

“ Moritz is right,” said Heim. “ I agree with him. To- 
day is the ninth that she has been without fever. We may 
risk something. Farewell, Johannes. I will come again 
this evening.” 

The gentlemen motioned to Hilsborn to accompany 
them, and left the room. 

Johannes clasped his hands, and there burst from his 
heart such a prayer as comes from the soul only in 
moments of deepest anguish. “0 God, who knowest 
my heart and its thoughts and desires, canst Thou enter 
into judgment with me so heavily ? Must I be the ruin 
of her whom I would have saved ? Shall I be the cause of 
worse than death to her whom I would have rescued from 
death ? Can I bear this and still retain my own reason ? 
Have I destroyed the treasure, the hope of my existence? 
Have I shattered the glorious image to whose perfection 
I would have lent an aiding baud ? And yet I meant 
to fulfil my duty. O God, if I have erred, mine be the 
punishment, mine, — not hers through me. No burden can 
be laid upon me that I will not gladly bear, save this 
alone I” 

He entered the sick-room, and stood looking at Ernes- 
tine, who was lying as if half asleep, muttering discon- 
nected, unintelligible words. Should he arouse her from 
this apparent repose ? No, he had not the heart to do it. 
He drew aside the curtain, and the broad light of day fell 
full upon the ghost-like face. She moved, as if the light 
pained her, and turned aside. Willmers, who sat by the 
bedside, knitting, motioned him away. Johannes let 
the curtain fall again. 

Suddenly the door was flung open, and Gretchen rushed 


492 


ONLY A GIRL; 


in, her chest heaving, her eyes full of horror and despair. 
Hilsborn followed, attempting in vain to restrain her. 

“Do not keep me I” the girl wailed out. “There is 
no comfort, no hope for me in this world I It is my 
father’s work — and I have sworn to repair the injury 
done by him. How can I repair this wrong ? How 
recall the glorious mind that he has destroyed And, 
almost frantic, she threw herself upon the bed beside 
Ernestine, and, seizing her hands, “ Ernestine, wake up! — 
you must not lose your reason 1 Ernestine, listen — hear 
— Ernestine, Ernestine I” she cried, in the tone in which 
she had bidden her father farewell. 

And Ernestine trembled at the call. She started up, 
and stared with a wild expression at the strange figure 
clad in black. She closed her eyes, then opened them 
again, only to close them wearily once more, as if she 
had not had sufficient sleep. Then she asked, “Who is 
this 

Johannes and Hilsborn stood in breathless expectation. 
They pressed each other’s hands with a look that said 
more than any words could have done, and Johannes 
made a sign to Willmers. 

“ It is your young nurse, Fraulein Ernestine,” Will- 
mers replied. 

“Oh, indeed I” said Ernestine slowly. Again she closed 
her eyes, but remained sitting upright. Hilsborn went 
to the window, and admitted a little more light. 

Then she rubbed her eyes and looked around. Gretchen 
had sunk upon her knees, and did not venture to stir. 
Johannes stood concealed by the head of the bed. 

“ What o’clock is it ?” asked Ernestine. 

“ Half-past eleven,” said Willmers. 

Again there was silence for awhile. Hilsborn drew 
the curtains still more aside. Just then the Staatsrathin 
in the other room, ignorant of what was going on, ap- 
proached the half-open door. Fortunately, Johannes saw 
her, and motioned her away ; she withdrew instantly, but 
the door creaked a little. 

“ Who was coming in?” asked Ernestine. 

“ The maid,” Willmers replied, with ready presence 
of mind. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


493 


Then there was a long pause, during which the throb- 
bing of the three hearts, agitated by alternate fear and 
hope, was almost audible. 

Willmers,” said Ernestine. 

Fraulein 

“ Have I been dreaming — or did I really burn the 
book ?” 

“ What book, dear Fraulein Ernestine 

“ The fairy-book, — the old fairy-book. Ah, I burned it. 
How sorry 1 am 1’^ 

“ Another can easily be procured. Do not fret about 
that, dear,” said Willmers, suddenly remembering that 
there had been a fire in Ernestine’s library on the day when 
she was taken ill. 

“ Oh, no, it will not be the same, — not the same,” said 
Ernestine sadly, and was silent again for some time. 

“ Willmers !” 

“ Fraulein?” 

“I thought I was wakened by a terrible shriek, I 
was so frightened I trembled all over. See how vivid our 
dreams can be I” 

“No one shrieked,” said Willmers. 

“ Where is my uncle ?” 

“ Gone to America.” 

“ Gone I and left me here ?” 

“ You were ill.” 

“ How long have I been in bed, then ?” 

“ Oh, a couple of weeks.” 

“ Ah I Who has been attending me ?” 

“Herr Gebeimrath Heim and Herr Professor Mdll- 
ner.” 

“ Indeed I Mdllnerl” 

She was silent, and then passed into a quiet half slum- 
ber, but she smiled in her sleep. 

Hilsborn and Johannes went out of the room on tip- 
toe. Without, they clasped each other’s hands in mutual 
congratulations. 

“ What do you think now?” asked Johannes. 

“ I think she is safe,” said Hilsborn. 

Gretchen slipped out and joined them. “Oh, you 

42 


494 


ONLY A GIRL; 


should see her lying there now, so calm and quiet — she 
does not even murmur in her sleep as she did.” 

“ Gretchen,” said Johannes, “it is your doing. God 
bless you for it I” 

Gretchen looked up at Hilsborn, who could not resist 
the temptation to put his arm around her and draw her 
towards him. Johannes smiled, for the first time for weeks, 
and said, “ I saw it coming. Would that such happiness 
were mine !” 

“ But,” said Gretchen timidly, “remember, it is a great 
deal harder to win such a creature as Ernestine than such 
a poor little thing as I. And only think what she will 
be when won I” 

The Staatsrathin interrupted the conversation. She 
saw with delight the hope in her son’s eyes, and thanked 
God. 

They sat together iu the antechamber for half an hour, 
until they heard Ernestine waken. 

Johannes then beckoned to Willmers, and said to her, 
“ Prepare Ernestine as cautiously as you can for seeing 
us.” 

“ Willmers I” called Ernestine. 

“ Here I am, Fraulein Ernestine.” 

“ I feel so well now, — so rested 1 I must have been very 
ill, for my head is still confused, and it is hard to think. 
Tell me, my dear Willmers, am I not very poor?” 

“No one is very poor, Fraulein, who is as rich in mind 
and heart as you are.” 

“ Do not evade my question. I begin to remember it 
exactly. My uncle deceived me. And Mdllner, — yes, 
that was the evening when he told me I must die — and 
the skull fell down and struck my poor head just here,” — 
and she put up her hand to the scar that had remained 
since her childhood from her terrible fall, — “just here. 
It was very painful, but I hardly felt it, in my hurry to 
read all that there was in the book about diseases of the 
heart. And then those terrible thoughts of eternal night 
and eternal silence — and then — then — I remember nothing 
more. Oh, Willmers, pray draw aside the curtains, and 
let me enjoy the light as long as I may.” 

Willmers opened the curtains of both the windows. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


495 


The bright rays of the autumn sun streamed into the 
room. Ernestine stretched out her arms towards them, 
and said, Oh, glorious light I How long shall I look 
upon you? How soon will your warm rays kiss the 
flowers upon my grave? Shall the blest look upon the 
face of God ? This beautiful smiling world is His face, 
and blessed indeed are they who may still look upon it 
and recognize God. Ah, Willmers, life is such a gift 1 It 
is truly valued by those who stand looking down into 
their open graves, as I do, and I think I was never so 
worthy to live as now when it is too late.^’ 

She clasped her hands over her eyes and burst into 
tears “ If I could only hope to go to eternal peace upon 
a Father’s loving, forgiving heart, I would gladly die. I 
long for His love. All feel His presence, and look to 
Him. But I dare not approach Him. I should be thrust 
out.” 

“Hear Fraulein Ernestine,” said Willmers, “you are 
still ill, and that is the cause of these gloomy thoughts. 
If you would only talk with Professor Mollner, he would 
know better how to answer you than such a simple old 
woman as I.” 

“ When is Dr. Mollner coming again?” 

“ He is here with his mother. They came here to stay, 
that they might take care of you, and the Frau Staats- 
rathin has done all that she could to help her son. Oh, 
how anxious and unhappy they have been about you 1 
The Herr Professor would not stir from your bedside, 
and he looks quite ill with constant watching.” 

Ernestine cast down her eyes with emotion. 

“ May I not ask him to come, in now ?” asked Willmers. 

“ Pray do so.” 

Willmers did not have to go far to call him. He was 
already at the door. 

“ Ernestine, how are you?” he said, doing his best to 
appear composed. 

“ Well, dear friend.” And she smiled, and held out 
her hand to him. “What have you not done for me I 
How can a dying woman thank you for such self-sacri- 
fice?” 

“Ernestine,” cried Johannes, pressing her hand to his 


496 


ONLY A GIRL; 


lips, you are in error. I myself led you into it, and se- 
verely has God punished me for my imprudence. Every- 
thing that I told you of your physical condition was 
founded upon mistaken suppositions. What I thought a 
symptom of chronic disease was nothing but the approach 
of an acute attack of illness. Two physicians, Heim and 
Moritz Kern, pronounce your heart sound, and you are 
now out of danger. Oh, Ernestine, you cannot dream 
what my sufferings have been ! I saw you writhing in 
mortal agony. All your fancies betrayed the terror into 
which I had plunged you. I would have rescued you 
from it, but you could not hear nor understand me. I 
offered you the truth that would save you from destruc- 
tion, and you could not open your lips to receive it. It 
was too much, too much 

“Then I need not die?” asked Ernestine with a long 
breath, as if awaking from an oppressive dream. 

“ On my honour, Ernestine, you are quite out of 
danger.” 

She could not speak. She could only look fondly and 
gratefully at the blue heavens outside the window. Then 
she silently pressed Mdllner’s hand to her breast, and the 
large tears gathered in her eyes. 

The Staatsriithin then entered. “ May I come in ?” 
she asked. “ May I say good-morning to the invalid ?” 

Ernestine drew the old lady towards her, put her arm 
around her, and whispered, “ You have so much to for- 
give, but you granted me your forgiveness before I could 
ask you for it. I feel so humiliated in comparison with 
you, I will not conceal the shame this confession causes 
me. It is your only reward for all that you have done 
for me.” 

“ How she has been purified in the terrible furnace that 
she has passed through I” the Staatsrathin said to Jo- 
hannes, who was looking down enraptured upon the pale, 
beautiful features, once more informed by the clear light 
of reason. 

“I thank you all, and you too, dear Willmers. Every 
breath that I draw of this new gift of life shall be full of 
gratitude to you and ” — she looked timidly upwards — 
“ to God. In that dark, dark night of horror, I felt that 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 497 

His hand prostrated me, and now His hand lifts me up 
again. Oh, yes. He is a merciful God I” 

“ Then, Ernestine,” said Johannes, “ a blessing has 
come even from the terror that I caused you, — the bless- 
ing of faith.” 

“ Yes, dear friend, you were right when you said, ^ To 
some God comes in fear.’ You were right in everything, 
and I am only a woman I” Her head drooped. She was 
exhausted. 

Johannes and his mother looked significantly at each 
other, joy in their eyes. It seemed to them that Ernes- 
tine was born again. 

The blessed relief that followed this* brief conversation 
kept the invalid sunk in profound sleep all the rest of the 
day. 

When Heim came, towards evening, he would not even 
see her, lest he should disturb the repose which was, he 
said, the best medicine for a convalescent. 

At nightfall she opened her eyes and saw Johannes 
sitting beside her. 

“ Are you still with me ?” she asked. 

“ I am always with you, Ernestine. I shall never 
leave you,” he said with fervour. 

Her eyelids closed, and she was silent, but her breath 
came quickly. He saw that his words had excited her, 
and he resolved carefully to avoid in future every syllable 
that could possibly disturb the perfect repose of her 
mind. 

He left the room, that she might become composed. 
Willraers persuaded her to take some nourishment, and 
she fell asleep again without a word. 

She was so much refreshed the next morning that Jo- 
hannes breakfasted with his mother for the first time for 
many days, and assured her that he confidently hoped 
now for Ernestine’s speedy recovery. 

“ Thank God I” ejaculated the Staatsrathin fervently. 
“ Since yesterday I have seen how dear she may become 
to me. I acknowledge now that you, my son, understood 
this rare creature better than I did. But where are 
Gretchen and Hilsborn ? Why do they not come to break- 
fast ?” 


42 ^ 


498 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ They are taking a turn together in the garden. How 
happy they are !” 

“ (iod willing, we shall soon have a double wedding in 
N— 

“ Ah, mother, yours are bold dreams I” cried Johannes. 

“ But why not ? Be sure, my son, she will soon be well 
again. Her constitution, both mental and physical, is 
strong. In two weeks your holidays will be at an end, 
and then we will carry her back to town with us, and 
when her trousseau, that I shall provide, is complete, 
where will there be any need of delay 

“ Why, mother, you yourself have just said that her 
mind is vigorous as well as her body. I shall never be- 
lieve she can be mine until she is actually my affianced 
bride.” 

“ Ah, Moritz and Angelika I” cried the Staatsrathin, 
rising to meet them as they entered. 

Angelika kissed her mother and brother. She was, if 
possible, plumper and rosier than ever. 

“Aha I” laughed Moritz, “we frightened you for no- 
thing yesterday. I know — I know all about it from Heim. 
Your coy damsel has come to her senses — congratulate 
you I If she can be cured of the rest of her brain-sick- , 
ness, why. Heaven speed the wooing I There’ll be no 
getting any good out of you until you are married.” 

Angelika put her plump, dimpled little hand over his 
mouth. “Can you not let poor Johannes have some 
peace ?” 

Moritz kissed the soft, warm fetter placed upon his lips 
and freed himself from it. 

“ ‘ Poor’ Johannes ! Why poor ? He’s sure of her now. 
She hasn’t a groschen. Let her thank Heaven that there 
is a comfortable home ready for her, and she will, — 
no one can accuse her of stupidity,” said Moritz. 

Johannes and his mother looked grave, but did not 
speak, and he went on. “ I can’t conceive how she with- 
stood you so long. You’re the very hero for a novel, — 
too sentimental for my taste, but that’s just what women 
like, and if I were a woman I’d have you on the spot.” 

“ Thank you kindly, Moritz,” said Johannes gaily, 
“but make your mind easy, — I certainly would not have 
you.” 


OR A PHTSiblAN FOR TEE SOUL. 


499 


“ Oh, do stop I you do nothing but quarrel and fight 
when you are together,” said Angelika merrily. “You 
are both good and true, each after his own fashion, and I 
love you both dearly. What more do you want?” 

“All right,” said Moritz, contemplating the fair little 
figure with immense satisfaction. “ If you love us, I am 
entirely content. It is only your discontented brother who 
is not satisfied.” 

“Angelika knows well enough,” said Johannes, “what 
she is to me 1” 

Here Willmers appeared. “ Herr Professor, Fraulein Er- 
nestine is awake, and is asking for her ‘pretty young 
nurse,’ as she calls her. Shall I go for Fraulein Gretchen ?” 

“Yes,” said Johannes, “ but I must tell her who Gretchen 
is, — you will excuse me ?” 

“Yes, yes, go, for Heaven’s sake I don’t wait an in- 
stant I” Moritz called after him. 

“ Ernestine,” said Johannes, after he had exchanged 
morning greetings with the invalid, whose improvement 
was evidently steady and sure, — “ Ernestine, you wish to 
see the young girl who was here yesterday, and I must 
first tell you who she is. Do you still cherish any affec- 
tion for your uncle ?” 

Ernestine shook her head. “ He is dead to me.” 

“ I have something to tell you of him that may agitate 
you, and I scarcely dare to doit.” 

“ What can agitate me, after all the terrors that my 
own fancy has conjured up ?” Ernestine asked composedly. 

“ Well, then, the girl who has helped to nurse you 
with touching fidelity for the last four weeks is Leuthold’s 
daughter, and — an orphan I” 

“ Good God !” she exclaimed. “ Poor child 1 Is Leu- 
thold dead ?” 

“Yes, he inflicted upon himself the punishment of his 
crimes. This world is past for him.” 

Ernestine looked up gravely. “ I cannot mourn him. 
He was my evil genius, and shamefully abused my confi- 
dence. But I will not visit it upon his daughter, — poor, 
innocent child. I pray you bring her to me, — she is the 
only creature in this world who is linked to me by the tie 
of kindred I” 


500 


ONLY A Glkxj; 


Johanaes went to the window and beckoned to Gretchen, 
who was approaching the house with Hilsborn. 

She came instantly, and a minute later was upon her 
knees at Ernestine’s bedside. Ernestine would have 
drawn her towards her, but she sobbed, “ Let me kneel 
at your feet, — only so should the daughter of one who 
greatly wronged you dare to approach you.” 

“ Gretchen, poor, innocent orphan,” cried Ernestine, 
“come to my heart!” Then, regarding her with emo- 
tion, she declared, “Indeed, if anything could lighten 
his errors, it would be his affection for such a child. For 
the sake of that pure human love, I forgive him. If I 
were rich, I would share all with you as with a sister. 
If I had anything to give, I would give it to you. 
But I have nothing for you, except sympathy and af- 
fection.” 

And the two girls were clasped in each other’s arms. 


CHAPTER X. 

RETURN. 

With reawakening strength, entirely novel feelings of 
affection and interest penetrated Ernestine’s nature, — 
genuine human sympathies, such as her life hitherto had 
afforded no room for. In a few days the closest intimacy 
was established between herself and Gretchen. There was 
a simplicity about Ernestine that no one had believed her to 
possess. It was as if she now began to live for the first time, 
as if during the long period of her unconsciousness she 
had forgotten her former experience of the outward world, 
and she was as delighted as a child with all that unfolded 
itself before her eyes. She was as charmed as if she had 
never seen it before with the sight of the clear autumn sky. 
She would gaze long and thoughtfully upon the flowers 
that were laid upon her bed. She eagerly turned over, 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


501 


with Gretchen, the books of rare prints that Johannes 
brought for her amusement. Hitherto she had known Art 
only by name, and had not had an idea of its significance. 
Her uncle had never supplied food for her imagination, 
lest she should be turned aside from the pursuit of her 
graver studies. Her weary soul now bathed in the waters 
of fancy which Johannes unlocked for her refreshment. 
He brought her photographs of pictures and statues 
by famous masters, and ideas of the beautiful were 
awakened within her, filling her with glad inspiration. 
And Gretchen met her with ready sympathy, — she was 
in advance of her, indeed, and could point out to her many 
beauties that else might have escaped her unpractised eyes. 
At such times Ernestine would regard Gretchen with 
admiration and surprise. It was a pleasure to see the 
two girls throwing their whole souls into these new 
enjoyments together. Even Hilsborn, who since Ernes- 
tine’s convalescence had naturally been defrauded of 
many a delightful moment, could not grudge them so 
pure and true a happiness. Sometimes from morning 
until night the two lovely heads would be bent together 
over books and prints, and sometimes they had a com- 
panion, — Father Leonhardt, who would come “on pur- 
pose,” as he expressed it, “ to see the new books.” But his 
delight was in listening to Ernestine while she described 
the pictures minutely, oftentimes with so much truth and 
spirit that the old man would clasp his hands and cry, 
“ How beautiful that must be I” 

“ Do you see it. Father Leonhardt?” she would ask in 
her zeal, and the old man would reply delightedly, “ Yes, 
I see it I” 

And when anything pleased him particularly, he would 
ask, “ Show me that picture again I” and Ernestine was 
unwearied in her descriptions and explanations. 

Johannes and his mother were enchanted with this 
rejuvenation, as it might be called. 

She avoided with secret dislike any return to her for- 
mer world of thought, — it was too harsh a contrast 
to her present delight, — she seemed actually disgusted 
with the anatomical pursuits which had led her to dissect 
BO curiously what now gave her so much pleasure. She 


502 


ONLY A GIRL; 


would not again descend into those gloomy depths whence 
she had drawn nothing but despair, and all that she now 
looked upon was as novel and strange as if she had spent 
the last ten years immured in a tower, from which she 
had only looked out upon God’s fair world from a far-off 
height. 

Her recovery advanced so rapidly that eight days after 
her first awaking to consciousness she was able to be 
carried by Johannes and Gretchen into the library, once 
more restored to order and comfort by the faithful care 
of Willmers. She was placed in an arm-chair, and, as the 
Staatsrathin covered her with a warm, soft coverlet, she 
said in a weak voice, “ Now let us begin where we left 
off ten years ago 1” 

The Staatsrathin stooped, and, kissing her brow, whis- 
pered softly, “ It is a pity so much time has been lost I” 

“ Oh, no, — not a pity,” replied Ernestine, — “ no time 
spent in searching for truth is lost ; but the measure of 
my strength is exhausted. I must give up.” 

And, with a melancholy smile, she leaned back her head 
and was silent. 

The days passed on, and the time approached very 
nearly when Mollner must return to his duties in town. 
Ernestine grew more silent and thoughtful. No oJie 
could understand the change in her mood, for her physical 
condition improved daily, while she fell into a state of 
depression such as had not befallen her since she began 
to recover. At last Heim decreed that she must have 
fresh air, and one warm noon she drove out for the first 
time. She had begged that Gretchen alone might accom- 
pany her, and the Mdllners had, although unwillingly, 
acceded to her request, Johannes carefully lifting her 
into the carriage. 

“ Gretchen,” said Ernestine, as they drove along, “Dr. 
Mollner has twice alluded to the fact that in two or three 
days he, with his mother, must move back to town, as 
his lectures at the University will begin again. You 
heard how they took it for granted that we should accom- 
pany them. I made only evasive answers, but now I 
must resolve what to do. Gretchen, you have often told 
me that your peace of mind depended upon your helping 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


503 


to support me as long as I needed you.” She looked 
searchingly at the girl. “ What if 1 were to take you at 
your word ?” 

“ I should keep it, for I gave it not only to you, but to 
God Almighty,” said Gretchen. “ Tell me, Ernestine, 
what 1 can do for you.” 

“Everything I” cried Ernestine. “You can save me 
from living upon charity.” 

“ How so ?” 

“ Can you not imagine, Gretchen, what it must be to 
me to accept further benefits from people whom I long 
to repay in kind, whom I would like to reward a thou- 
sandfold for all that they have done for me ? I do not 
know whether you understand me when I tell you that 
I would far rather earn my living by the work of my 
hands than depend upon the kindness of those whom 
I once treated so arrogantly, and who have already 
heaped more coals of fire upon my head than I can bear. 
You shake your head. Your father, Gretchen, would 
have understood me, — his words upon this subject, the 
evening before he left me, are inefifaceably impressed upon 
my mind.” 

“ Forgive me, Ernestine, it does not become me to de- 
preciate my father still further in your eyes, but I cannot 
be silent I I have arrived at the melancholy conviction 
that my father never advised you well. He was wrong here 
too. He did not know Dr. Mollner, — he could not conceive 
of the depth and truth of his affection for you. Will you 
reward the man who has done so much for you by making 
him wretched? You certainly will do so if you refuse 
to go with him. No, Ernestine, 1 do not understand how 
you can break a man’s heart just for the sake of your 
pride I” 

Ernestine did not speak for a few moments, and then 
she said, “ Gretchen, you are a child, — I cannot explain to 
you that there is a principle of honour to which one must 
sacrifice the happiness of a life, should circumstances de- 
mand it. You know, perhaps, that when I was wealthy 
and independent, Mollner offered me his hand, and that I 
refused it, because I could not fulfil the conditions that 
he proposed. Since that time his conduct has failed to 


504 


ONLY A GIRL; 


assure me that he still loves me, for a nature as noble as 
his, is perfectly capable of sacrificing all that he has for 
me, from pure sympathy and mere compassion. And, even 
if he still loved me, could he value a heart open to the 
suspicion of surrendering itself to him under the pressure 
of necessity, not from free choice? No, Gretchen, there 
can be no firm structure of happiness erected upon such 
a foundation. This is not the time when I could with- 
draw my refusal to be his wife I No, no ! such a course at 
this point would fix the blush of shame upon my forehead 
forever. Perhaps I may still succeed in obtaining an in- 
dependence by my own exertions, — an independence that . 
will again make me his equal. Then it would be differ- 
ent,. — then he would know that I gave myself to him 
from free choice, not upon compulsion. If he should woo 
me then, — oh, Gretchen, it would be happiness that I 
scarcely dare to think of !” 

Gretchen kissed a tear from Ernestine’s pale cheek, and 
said gently, “You are not like any one else, but always 
true and noble. I have no right to judge you. If you 
say, ‘Thus shall it be,’ I will submit. My only desire is 
to obey you.” 

“ You shall not obey me, Gretchen, but you shall be my 
guide in a world where I am a stranger, — you shall lend 
me your arm to support me until I can stand alone. 
Will you not ?” 

“Yes,” was the low reply. The girl was thinking 
of Hilsborn and his sorrow at the postponement of his 
hopes and of her own hopes also, and she tried to take 
heart and tell her cousin that she loved and was loved 
in return, and that she would be able to offer her an 
asylum. But Gretchen paused, and bethought herself. 
Ernestine would never accept from Hilsborn what she 
refused to receive from Mdllner. She could not make 
such an offer without offending Ernestine, and, if Ernes- 
tine learned how matters stood with Gretchen, she would 
assuredly refuse all assistance or service from her that 
could delay her happiness with Hilsborn. For Ernestine’s 
proud nature never could endure the thought of being a 
burden to any one Gretchen had felt all this from the 
first, and therefore had insisted that her betrothal should 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 505 

be kept secret from Ernestine. And could she tell her of it 
now ? She controlled herself, and was silent. 

“ I will tell you my plan,’^ Ernestine began. “ Of 
course I have given up the idea of going to America. I 
could never do what would be required of me there, with- 
out assistance, and, even if I could, I would not leave 
home and all that I love for the sake of mere fame. I 
will try to find a position as a teacher of natural science 
in some institution, or, failing that, I will go out as a 
private governess. But I know how ignorant I am of 
everything that is looked for from a woman in such a 
position. I know nothing of feminine occupations myself, 
and, of course, am quite unfit to have the entire charge 
of children. I understand no art, — I am deficient in all 
practical knowledge, — the knowledge that I possess is 
seldom needed in life. This I have learned since I have 
seen something of the world. You, Gretchen, are my 
only hope. You will teach me everything, — you are a 
proficient in all that a woman should know. I must leave 
this place. I must get away from this part of the coun- 
try. Until I am out of Moilner’s reach, there will be no 
peace either for him or for me. He would always be 
thinking that he ought to take me from my position, and 
there would be endless struggles. So I think it would be 
ibest that we two should retire to some small town, as 
far olf as my means will permit, and then, if you would 
sacrifice to me a few months of your young, hopeful life, 
until I should be sufficiently far advanced to procure a 

situation.” She got so far with difficulty, and then, 

breaking off, asked humbly, “ Is this asking too much 
of you ? The world is open to you, Gretchen. Every one 
would welcome you back from your seclusion. Mollner’s 
house will always be a home for you, where you may be 
tenderly cared for. Will you sacrifice all this to me, for 
a little while ?” 

“With all my heart,” said Gretchen. “But, dearest 
Ernestine, have we the means to carry out this plan ? All 
that I possess is three gold pieces that I found in the 
pocket of the dress that my mother gave me. Look, 
here they are — I always carry them about me. My 
mother had written upon the paper in which they were 
' 43 


506 


ONLY A GIRL; 


wrapped, ‘ To be used in case of necessity.’ I meant 
to spend them for you, for you are all the ‘ necessity’ 
that I have. Take them, — they are all that I have, but 
I am afraid they will not go far.” 

“ Thank you, you dear faithful little sister 1” cried 
Ernestine. “ We are not so poor as you think. Dr. Mbll- 
ner has succeeded in saving all my furniture from your 
father’s creditors. The sale of it will bring us in a sum 
sufficient to support us until I shall find a situation.” 

“ The question is, then, how long that will be,” said 
Gretchen, thoughtfully. 

“ Only a few months at the longest, I should sup- 
pose.” 

Gretchen was startled, but she only said gently, “ Then 
we had better select a place where I too can earn some- 
thing, that there may be no danger of our suffering from 
want.” 

“ That shall be as you think best,” replied Ernestine. 
“ I put myself entirely in your hands, — only take me away 
secretly, so that no one may seek to detain us.” 

“ Must no one know anything of it ? Must I tell no- 
body ?” 

“ Do you suppose we should be allowed to go, Gretchen, 
if our intention was suspected? If you are afraid that 
you cannot keep our departure secret, tell me so frankly, 
and I will go alone, without your knowledge.” 

“ Oh, no, Ernestine, 1 will not let you go out into the 
world alone. What are all my resolutions and protesta- 
tions worth, if I fail you at the outset ? But there is one 
person, Ernestine, to whom 1 owe a certain obedience, 
my guardian 1 I am not of age, as you are. 1 can- 
not do just as I please. I must ask him whether I may 
go with you — but J will answer for his secrecy. He shall 
promise me, before I confide in him, that he will not be- 
tray my confidence, — and he always keeps his promises.” 

Ernestine considered for a moment. “Yes, 1 see this 
cannot be avoided. 1 rely upon you. Johannes and his 
mother are going to drive into town together in a few 
days to prepare a room for us in their house. When they 
return in the evening, ihey must not find us here.” 

“1 cannot help feeling,” said Gretchen, “as if 1 were 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


507 


guilty of treachery towards all these kind people. I never 
deceived any one in my life before ; I feel like a criminal.’^ 

“ We will not deceive them, only spare them a parting 
scene that would be painful to us all, — we will not im- 
pose upon them the necessity of preventing what in their 
hearts they may think best for us. When we are once 
away, I will write and explain to them what we have 
done, and they will understand me.’^ 

“ Ernestine, I will pray God to give you more love and 
less pride. My only hope is that you will not long be 
able to live without the faithful friend who loves you so 
devotedly.” 

Ernestine looked out of the carriage-window without 
a word. The fields were bare and deserted, but the spi- 
ders’ webs, that lay like nets upon the stubble, glistened 
in the sunlight. Here and there the peasants were burn- 
ing underbrush, and the red flames darted with a merry 
crackle through the thick white smoke that the autumn 
breeze kept lying low upon the ground. The cattle were 
gleaning a scanty meal from the shorn pastures, — they 
raised their heads to look after the carriage as it passed, 
or to rub their necks against some dried old stump of a 
tree. In the distance, a sportsman was making his toil- 
some way through the deep furrows of a ploughed field, 
while his dog busied himself among the hedges until he 
started a covey of birds, and the fatal crack of the gun 
was heard. A wagon, laden high with full wine-casks, 
passed along the road, — the boy that was driving had a 
bunch of withered asters in his hat, and cracked his whip 
gaily at sight of Gretchen’s lovely face, while the little dog 
perched on the top of the load barked angrily. “ Every 
one is making ready for winter,” said Gretchen. “ How 
much labour meat and drink cost I” 

The carriage turned towards the village, and Ernestine 
called to the coachman to stop at the school-house, — “ I 
must see the Leonhardts once more.” As they reached 
* the low-roofed house, one of the windows was opened, 
and Frau Brigitta looked out. “Good-morning, Frau 
Leonhardt,” cried Ernestine from the carriage. 

“ My dear Friiulein Ernestine, 1 can hardly trust my 
eyes 1” And out she came to the carriage-door. “ Come 


508 


ONLT A GIRL; 


in, come in, both of you, — I will bring Bernhard — he is 
with Kathchen in the garden. But Wal er is in the house. 
He is so happy with the things you hare sent him I He 
studies night and dayl’^ Thus the o'.d woman ran on, 
as she assisted her guests to alight. 

“ I think,” said Ernestine, “ that I should like to go 
into the garden to Father Leonhardt.” 

“Just as you please. He is sitting round the corner, 
in the sun.” 

“Go into the house, then, Gretchen,” said Ernestine. 
“I will come in one moment.” 

And she went round the house as quickly as her 
strength would permit, and approached the old man, who 
was teaching Kathchen her lesson. The child would 
have run to meet her, but Ernestine motioned to her not 
to speak, and knelt silently down by Leonhardt. 

“Who is this?” he asked. 

Ernestine made no reply, but imprinted a kiss upon his 
hand. He smiled. “ Oh, it is my daughter Ernestine I” 

“ Yes, father, it is I,” she said. “ I come to you the 
first time that I have driven out. There is much within 
me that is still dark. I come to you for light.” 

“ You bring me light, and do you ask me to give you 
light? But I know what you mean, and I will give you 
all that I have. Heaven may make me, poor blind old 
man, its instrument in comforting and assisting you. 
Tell me, then, Ernestine, why does the sunshine that now 
floods your life fail to penetrate your heart ?” 

“ Send the child away, father.” 

“ Go, Kathi dear,” Leonhardt said. 

“ To Walter?” the little girl asked, delighted. 

“Yes, if he is not busy, — see that you do not trouble 
him.” 

Kathchen still lingered, with a look of inquiry at Er- 
nestine, who perceived it, and held out her hand. “My 
good little Kathchen, do you remember me ? I would 
like to give you a kiss, but you might fear my touch 
would harm you again.” 

“Oh, no. That cannot be,” said Kathchen. “I am 
not at all afraid of you.” 

“Then come here, my sweet child.” And she took 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


509 


her upon her lap, and kissed her kindly. It was the first 
time that she had ever had a child in her arms, and the 
pleasure that it gave her was new and strange. 

“ Oh, Father Leonhardt,” she said, “ how many differ- 
ent kinds of love there are ! Strange that they all seem 
so new and delightful to me !’’ 

“You are like the man with the heart of stone, in 
Hauflf’s story. Your uncle put a marble heart in your 
breast, and Mdllner has given you a warm, living heart 
instead.’’ 

Ernestine blushed at these words. She was glad that 
Leonhardt could not see her, yet he did see her. 

“He brings a blessing wherever he conies,” the old 
man continued. “ He has done everything for this child. 
Did he tell you? The Countess Worronska sent the 
forty thousand roubles, as she promised, and Dr. Mdllner 
succeeded at last in persuading the Kellers to send Kath- 
chen to a good school. She will leave now in about a 
week.” 

“ 1 knew nothing of it,” said Ernestine. 

“ It is not his custom to speak of the good he does,” 
said Leonhardt, “but indeed he is a benefactor to all.” 

“A benefactor to all,” Ernestine repeated thoughtfully. 
“All the less should any one individual boast of his 
kindness, — a kindness shown to all, without respect of 
persons.” 

Leonhardt involuntarily turned his darkened eyes 
towards her as she spoke thus. “ Go, Kathchen,” he 
said, “Fraulein Ernestine will come by-and-hy.” 

Kathchen went into the house, and, not finding Walter 
in the sitting-room, mounted to his study, in the upper 
story, just under the roof. She nestled up to his side and 
said, with an air of great mystery, “Only think I the 
lady of the castle has kissed me again!” 

“Not possible!” laughed Walter. “And d(? you feel 
nothing queer?” 

“Of course not,” Kathchen cried in some confusion. 
“ She can’t bewitch me.” 

“ 1 wouldn’t like to try her,” said Walter with an invol- 
untary sigh. “ I think, if I had been in your placn, 1 
should have felt the enchantment instantly.” 

43* 


610 


ONLY A GIRL; 


*‘Why, you told me yourself there was no such thing,” 
said Kathchen. 

“Well, Kiithi,” said the young man, “it would be as 
well, perhaps, for the sake of precaution, that I should 
kiss off her kisses. Where was it? — here?” 

“ Yes, and here on my forehead, and on my shoulder.” 

“ There, we will put an end to all that,” cried Walter, 
as he kissed the child. “And now go down-stairs. I 
must work ” 

“ Oh, you always have to work,” Kathchen complained. 

“Yes, you school-children have the best time, with 
nothing to do but laugh and play, while I have all the 
studying. Go now, and when the Frilulein comes in 
from the garden, come and call me.” 

“ Yes, I’ll call you. Good-by. But promise me that 
you wont tell that the Fraulein kissed me. They would 
all scold and laugh at me.” 

“ Oh, no,— not for the world. Where’s the use of telling 
everything? But you mustn’t love the Fraulein better 
than you do me, or I must tell your mother.” 

“Oh, no. I love you best of all the world 1” cried 
Kathchen, shutting the door behind her with emphasis. 
She had been but a few moments with Gretchen and 
Frau Brigitta when Ernestine entered with Leonhardt. 
Both looked agitated, and Ernestine’s eyes showed traces 
of tears. 

Kathchen would have gone to call Walter, as she had 
been told to do. 

“ Stay, Kathchen,” said Ernestine, “ I will go up to 
Herr Leonhardt myself and see what he is doing ” 

And she took Father Leonhardt’s arm, and with him 
ascended the narrow staircase. 

Walter sprang up, with flushed cheeks, when Ernestine 
and his father entered his room. 

“ Have you come all the way up here ?” he exclaimed, 
“you, before whom I stand humbly as a mere pupil, — re- 
vering you almost as the very personification of Science?” 

“ Do not speak thus, Walter, — you do not know what 
you are saying. I have, through much pain, obtained the 
victory over self, and will content myself with my lot as 
a woman, but I am weak, and such speeches might easily 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


611 


arouse again within me the demon of ambition. You 
mean it kindly, but, now that I stand on the borders of 
the realm 1 have forsaken, I must not listen to any voice 
recalling me to that dear old home. I have come to take 
leave of you. Your father will tell you wherefore and 
whither I am going.’’ 

“ Oh, Friiulein Ernestine, are you going away ? and 
are you going to give up your studies too ?” 

“ I must resign them, Walter, or at least all scientific 
pursuits. My knowledge must be to me now a means of 
support, and in these days it can serve me only in the posi- 
tion of a governess. I must content myself with teach- 
ing in a girls’ school. Men do not want women for pro- 
fessors, and no man wants a professor for a wife. The 
world is not what 1 dreamed, — there is no place in it for 
a woman’s efforts, and I am too weak to create one for 
myself” 

“What a shame it is,” said Walter, “that such a 
woman should need to create a place for herself! she 
sliould be placed upon a pedestal and worshipped, if only 
for the sake of such a mind in such a body.” 

Leonhardt laid his hand in warning upon the boy’s arm. 

“ Father, I must speak,” he went on. “ I must give 
some relief to the indignation that fills me at the idea of 
such a nature’s being condemned to contend in the world 
for the bare means of subsistence.” 

Ernestine hid her face in her hands, and sighed heavily. 

Leonhardt shook his head disapprovingly at his son. 
“It is not kind, Walter, to make the sacrifice harder than 
it need be. Ernestine is and always must be noble, and 
never was she nobler than in her present resolution. 
We cannot change the world, Walter, and Ernestine is 
a woman, — she must submit.” 

“ Yes, submit !” she repeated, and there was a keener 
pain in her accents. 

“Fraulein Ernestine,” Walter implored her, “forgive 
me if I have revived buried griefs. I meant well, — I 
cannot tell you what pain it gives me to see you giving 
up what is so dear to you, and for me your going is like 
the departure of his muse to the poet, — the vanishing of 
his saint to the rapt devotee.” 


612 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ Walter,” Ernestine sa,id gravely, “ your words tempt 
me sorely, but, I hope, for the last time. I will resist 
them, and when you are older you will know why I do 
so. You are very young, Walter. It is not long, scarcely 
six weeks, since I was so too. In this short time I have 
grown older by six years, and the world and mankind are 
changed in my eyes, — I must struggle now for the simple 
means of subsistence.” 

She went to the bookshelves, on which the bright rays 
of the sun were just falling. ‘‘ Yes, dear old Darwin, your 
famous name still shines brightly upon me. I now begin 
to understand you and to appreciate the sublime import 
of your teachings.” 

She held out her hand to Walter, with tears in her 
eyes. “Thank you for the opportunity of trying my 
strength for one moment. It has been a melancholy sat^ 
isfaction. A bright future is before you ; if I have con- 
tributed in a degree to the realization of your hopes in 
life, I will descend cheerfully from the heights I dreamed 
of, — I have not lived in vain. I must go.” 

She looked around the room. Wherever her glance fell, 
it rested upon some of her books or instruments. “Keep 
all these things for me, Walter, — perhaps I may reclaim 
them at some future day.” Again tears filled her eyes. 
She knew she was never again to possess, what had been 
so long the sole joy of her life, the companions of her 
labours. “ No, let them go. I release from my service 
the spirits prisoned in these instruments that have brought 
the stars near to me and revealed the hidden mysteries 
of the earth to my asking eyes. They can serve me no 
longer, — I must return to the every-day world, — the spell 
is broken, — knowledge and sight are mine no longer.” 

She left the room noiselessly, and her old friend fol- 
lowed her. 

A quarter of an hour later, the carriage rolled away 
from the school-house towards the castle, and the Leon- 
hardts, father and son, stood on the threshold, the one 
gazing after the distant carriage, the other listening in- 
tently to the last sound of its wheels. 

Ernestine, sunk in thought, was leaning back in the 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


513 


vehicle, when she suddenly called to the coachman to stop. 
They were just passing the church. 

“ Stay here and wait for me,’’ she said to Gretchen. “I 
must go in here for a moment.” 

She got out, and went to the door, which stood ajar. 
Her hand lingered on the latch. What impelled her 
thus irresistibly to enter this poor little village church ? — 
Memory 1 Like a painted curtain, all the events, thoughts, 
experiences, of the last ten years were hung around the 
low portal. Again she stood before the church-door of 
her northern home, a trembling, longing, doubting, de- 
spairing child. “ Enter, and learn to kneel,” the same 
voice within that spoke then was speaking now. And she 
entered, softly and timidly. It was empty and quiet, — 
the people were all at their work. The floor between the 
benches was strewn with green box twigs from the last 
holiday, and the atmosphere was filled with the odour of 
incense. Through the painted window the sun threw 
many-coloured rays upon a picture of the Virgin. A 
swallow, scared from his summer’s nest in the dome, flew 
circling above Ernestine’s head, like the dove of the Holy 
Spirit. Ernestine slowly passed the quiet confessionals, 
where so many sorrow-laden hearts had unburdened them- 
selves of their weight of woe and received forgiveness in 
the name of the Lord. She thought with compassion of 
the cumbrous formalities that separated these wandering 
souls from their hope and trust. “Straight to Him,” 
breathed the voice within, and she passed with quick- 
ened steps over the soft, leaf-strewn floor, directly to the 
altar. Was it the same at which she had knelt and wept 
ten years before ? Whether it were or not. He was the 
same Divine One whose image looked down from the cross, 
touchi ng her heart now as it had touched it then. She knew 
now that she had but completed a circle, and had come back 
to the point at which she had been ten years before. 

And she extended her arms and fell upon her knees. 
“ Father,” she cried, “ I have come back, — receive me I 
ah, receive me I” 


514 


ONLY A GIRL; 


CHAPTER XI. 

“GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD.” 

“What a hard winter we are having!” said Ernes- 
tine to herself, looking thoughtfully out through the dim 
panes of the little window by which she was sitting, 
upon the roofs of the houses that bounded her prospect. 
They were covered with snow, that lay thick also on 
the outside window-sill. She sat with her hands wrapped 
in her cotton apron. “ Well, I wanted to know every- 
thing, — why not poverty, and hunger, and cold, — the 
mighty foes with which humanity is always contending? 
I could philosophize excellently well upon abstinence in 
a warm room, by a well-spread table, and am I to shrink 
now? No, no I no living soul shall ever hear me ask for 
help.” 

She stood up, and walked firmly to and fro. 

The room was a gloomy garret, a kind of kitchen, — at 
all events, there was a cooking-stove in it, and a cupboard 
containing articles of crockery. The floor was paved with 
stone. 

Ernestine’s feet were bitter cold. “ I wonder what 
o’clock it is,” she thought. “ The postman ought to be 
here soon. It is terrible to have nothing to mark the 
time.” 

She listened to catch the striking of a church- clock 
— going to the window and letting her eyes wander over 
the white roofs in search of a distant tower. There 
was no sun visible through the snowy air. It was a 
genuine winter’s day. 

At a window just opposite, a little boy breathed upon 
the frosty pane and made two round peep-holes, through 
which a pair of blue eyes beamed at her. She nodded 
to them — she knew the pretty child well. The little head 
behind the peep-holes nodded in its turn. She thought 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


515 


of Little Kay and her northern winter. Then the snow 
before the window rose like white clouds hiding the 
prospect, and, gradually taking a human shape clothed 
in wide flowing robes, that began to sparkle and glitter as 
if strewn with diamonds, and a veil of frozen gossamer 
fluttered in the air. And beneath the veil there looked 
at her through the window a white face, with fixed trans- 
parent eyes like crystal, and upon the beautiful brow was 
a diadem of icicles made of the tears of all who had 
perished in the ice and snow since the world was made, 
and of all who starve and freeze in winter-time, — a diadem 
richer in pearls than that of any earthly monarch. The 
mighty form had on one arm a shield, — but it was a plate 
of the ice upon which had been wrecked the ships that 
sought to penetrate the inhospitable kingdom of the Snow- 
queen around the north pole. With the other hand she 
was leading away the little boy from over the way, — she 
longed for some coral to adorn her colourless robes, for 
a few drops of warm human blood. It was the Snow- 
queen of the fairy-dreams of Ernestine’s childhood. But 
she was more majestic and gloomy than formerly, and 
she spoke other words to her now : 

“ I know you, — you never feared me as you do now that 
you have no warm roof, no firm walls, to protect you from 
my icy breath. But I will not harm you, — you belong to 
those who believe in the future of my dominion, who 
know that in thousands and thousands of years it must 
spread over the whole world, when all this swarming 
life will have passed to other spheres. Then my time 
will come, — there will be quiet, eternal icy quiet, here 
below, — and I will laugh at the old extinguished sun, glim- 
mering like a burnt-out coal and envying me my diamond 
palace which he can no longer melt away.” 

Thus spoke the Snow-queen to the dreaming woman of 
science, and there was a cold pain at her heart,— sorrow 
for the end of Being here below, sorrow at “the judgment- 
day of an eternal glacial period,” as Du Bois has it. 

The Snow-queen had vanished, and Little Kay with 

her, -a thick snow-storm hid from view the path that she 

had taken. 

Slowly and weakly, as if the clock were frozen and 


516 


ONLY A GIRL; 


could thaw only by degrees, twelve o’clock struck from 
the church-tovver. 

Ernestine did not hear it. She sat with her head lean- 
ing against the window. The voice of the Snow-queen 
sounded in her ears, “ Open your eyes, and seel” 

And she opened her eyes, and saw across billions of 
years. The sun, its fires only dimly burning, hung, 
a bloody disk in the skies, heavy brooding clouds were 
tinged with dull red, and twilight rested over the cold 
earth. Upon its hardened surface only a few wretched 
imbruted creatures crawled, seeking to sustain life upon 
the scanty remains of a decaying vegetation. 

Sadly Ernestine closed W eyes upon the painful 
picture. 

But she was again commanded to look abroad. Cen- 
turies swept on, and all grew darker and colder. The 
red disk faded, and all colour with it. Ernestine marked 
it all vanish in a dull gray. Weary with fruitless strug- 
gle, the last remains of organic life lay down in eternal 
rest. 

It was night at last. Still the earthly sphere performed 
its appointed circuit around the charred mass that wag 
once its sun. But the mighty firmament was clear and 
cloudless, — the lifeless earth exhaled no mists to obscure 
the light of the distant stars, which revealed to Ernestine 
immeasurable depths and immense heights of frozen seas 
and oceans amid eternal repose, — the world was only a 
gigantic memorial of things that were. 

“ But where, and in what guise, are the transformed 
forces of this spent world now lingering?” asked Ernestine. 
^‘Nothing in the great Universe is lost.” 

“ Ah I good heavens 1 here you are sitting dreaming 
in this cold kitchen 1” suddenly said a clear, bright voice. 
“No fire on the hearth, — no dinner made ; or, let me see, — 
yes, — but how ? Burnt to a cinder. My dear Ernestine, 
what have you been doing ?” 

Ernestine had sprung up, and was staring at the speaker 
as if she had come from another world. 

Gretcben, for she it was, laid aside a couple of school- 
books that she had under her arm, threw olf her cloak and 
hood, and busied herself with the neglected soup. “ I 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL 


617 


tnderstand, — first you kindled a huge fire, and then 
never thought of it again. The soup is not skimmed, 
and the beef is burned, and yet half raw. You cannot 
have looked at it for at least an hour.’^ 

“ It is such a pity that we had to sell my watch, 
Ernestine excused herself. “ I never know now how the 
time goes.” 

“ Nonsense I” said Gretchen, “ you can surely tell with- 
out a watch whether the soup boils and the fire burns or 
not. Only try, and all will go right. You have often 
proved that you can really cook quite well if you will 
only take pains. But I cannot trust you with soup and 
beef again, — you forget everything when once you begin 
to dream.” 

“ Gretchen, don’t be angry,” pleaded Ernestine. 

“ But here is all the food spoiled that was so hardly 
earned, and we have not a single groschen in the house, 
and shall not have, until my money is paid me to-morrow.” 
And tears of vexation came into Gretchen’s eyes. “ I care 
more about you than about myself. I am strong, and do 
not need meat ; but you, — indeed you ought to think of 
yourself, if not of me I” 

Ernestine, in her confusion, looked from the saucepan 
to Gretchen, and from Gretchen to the saucepan, in dis- 
may. “You are right,” she said, — “it is unpardonable 
not to take care that you, poor child, should have some- 
thing hot and good when you come home wearied from 
your work. Indeed I am a useless creature !” 

Gretchen was instantly appeased. She laughed, and 
threw her arms around Ernestine. “ Ah I my beautiful, 
grand, intellectual sister, it is too bad to scold you I Just 
hear my queenly Ernestine sue for pardon, like some poor 
Cinderella, and all for a piece of burnt meat I Don’t mind 
it, dear. You can’t think how touching your humility is. 
Why, I could kneel at your feet, if you would let me.” 
She kissed her sister’s lips. “Oh, what a poor distressed 
face 1 Don’t you know, dearest Ernestine, that the sight 
of that face is more to me than all the dinners in the 
world ?” And she laughed as merrily as a child. 

Ernestine returned her embrace. “ There, you forgive 
me,” she said tenderly. 


44 


518 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“ Oh, no, I beg your pardon,” said Gretchen, “ I will 
educate you. But enough of this. We must proceed to 
business at once. I must go back to school at two o’clock, 
and we cannot starve. We must give up the meat for 
to-day. There is no help for it. We must indulge our- 
selves in the luxury of an omelet.” 

“ Let me make it,” Ernestine begged. “ Sit down and 
rest yourself, you are tired.” 

“What! let you make it?” asked Gretchen. “That 
would be wise indeed. Suppose you spoiled it, what 
should we do then ?” And she took out a basket con- 
taining eggs. “We have just eggs enough for one ome- 
let, and no more. 

* Entrann’ er jetzo kraftlos meinen Handen, 

Ich babe keinen zweiten zu versenden,' 


as Schiller makes Tell say when he had no second string 
to his bow.” 

“ Indeed, Gretchen,” pleaded Ernestine, “I will not spoil 

it. I should be so glad to recover your good opinion, 

only let me try.” 

“Dearest, darling Ernestine,” said Gretchen, “trust 
me, we cannot indulge in experiments any longer. While 
we had a little money, it did not make much difference 
if we had a spoiled dish now and then, but now we 
must save every groschen, — there is no help for it.” 
And she began to beat the eggs, while Ernestine put 
more wood in the stove. 

“Never mind that!” cried Gretchen. “If you want 
to do something, dress the salad. But make haste, the 
omelet will be ready in an instant.” 

Ernestine made all the haste she could, — she was so 
anxious to do something. 

Suddenly Gretchen, who was busy at the fire, heard 
a low exclamation, and, turning, she saw Ernestine 
standing with a face of despair before the salad-bowl, 
with the oil-bottle in her hand. “What have you done?’’ 
cried Gretchen, hastening to her side. “Not got hold 
of the wrong bottle, I hope ?” But one sniff at the 
salad was enough. “ Bless me ! she has put petroleum 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


519 


into it I Now we must sit in the dark this evening-, — oar 
week’s supply is exhausted. Such nice salad and such 
good petroleum, each so valuable by itself and so worth- 
less mixed I Now, dear Ernestine, you cannot ask me to 
permit you to stay in the kitchen a moment longer. This 
is one of your unlucky days.” And, with a comical air 
of pathos, she untied and took off her sister’s apron. 
“ Herewith I solemnly depose you from your responsible 
office. You have to-day shown yourself entirely un- 
worthy to wear this ornament. Now go into the next 
room, and wait quietly until I bring the omelet in to 
you.” And she opened the door and led Ernestine from 
the room. 

When she went to her, shortly afterwards, she found 
her sitting sewing, her eyes red with weeping. “ Dar- 
ling,” she said to her, “I do believe you are crying about 
that trifle I I must be a little strict with you, you see, or 
you will never learn to economize and take care of things. 
Ernestine dear, you are not vexed with me for scolding 
you? I was only in jest.” 

“ How could I be vexed with you ? I am crying be- 
cause I am of no earthly use in the world 1 If it were not 
for you, you angel, what would become of me ? There is 
no child eight years old more clumsy and awkward than 
I. Who would bear with me as you do ? Do you think 
I am not humiliated by these thoughts? For these last 
two months, ever since my money was exhausted, you 
have supported me by your hard work at that school, and 
I could do nothing for you but prepare our frugal noon- 
day meal while jou are away, and now I cannot even 
do that ! It is shameful 1 Have I made the most com- 
plicated chemical combinations, and yet can I not make 
decent soup ? Have I overcome the greatest difficulties, 
and yet are these simple tasks beyond me ? This cannot 
go on. I promise you I will take myself in hand, and 
you shall not have to fast again when you come from 
school.” 

“ My dear Ernestine, I do not believe you can ever 
learn these things. They are too far beneath you.” 

“ My superiority is truly deplorable,” replied Ernes- 
tine. “ It does not help me to discharge the smallest duty. 


520 


ONLY A GIRL; 


Difficulties always incite me, and, now that I see how 
difficult these trifles are, I am determined to master 
them.” 

Gretchen handed her a piece of the omelet. “Now 
put away your work, or your dinner will be quite cold.” 

Ernestine laid aside the skirt upon which she was 
working. “ I shall never get it together again. I wish 
I had not ripped it apart I” 

“ Why, you could never have worn it, with the front 
breadth so scorched. But I will help you this even- 
ing. It is my fault that you scorched it, — I should not 
have let you make the fire, — so it is no more than rea- 
sonable that I should help you to repair the injury. But, 
Ernestine dear, you do not eat.” 

“ I have had enough. If you would have allowed 
me, I could have made two omelets out of those eggs.” 

Gretchen laughed merrily. “ Hear her say how much 
better she could have made it I Well, only wait, day 
after to-morrow is Sunday, and I shall be at home, and then 
you may cook as much as you please, under my direc- 
tion. That will be a real holiday for you.” 

“ Ah, Gretchen, how often I think of the Staatsrathin, 
when she wanted to teach me to prepare the beans for 
cooking, and I felt it an occupation so far beneath my 
dignity! I did not understand her then, but I have 
learned to do so now.” She sat lost in sad reflections. 

Gretchen looked at Ernestine’s plate, and shook her 
head. “ What shall I get for you that you can eat ? If 
you would only let me accept something now and then 
from my guardian. He would be so glad to assist us.” 

“ Gretchen, I have nothing to do with what he gives 
you, ” said Ernestine gravely, “ but no morsel that he might 
send us should pass my lips, any more than I would ac- 
cept one of the two dresses he sent to you. I know I 
am severe, for I force you to starve with me, but, God 
willing,” — and she uttered the name of God with more 
reverence than is usually shown by those who have it 
constantly on their lips, — “it will not last much longer. 
I must surely obtain a situation soon, and then you, you 
dear, faithful child, will be free to return to the Mollners, 
or whithersoever you choose, and begin to enjoy your young 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


521 


life. I will confess to you, Gretchen, that I wrote again, 
the day before yesterday, to the agent in Frankfort, beg- 
ging him to do all that he could for me. There must be 
a place for me somewhere in this wide world.’’ 

She threaded her needle with diflSculty, and began to 
sew again. Two large tears fell upon her work, but she 
brushed them hastily away, that Gretchen might not see 
them. 

“ Dear Ernestine,” Gretchen said, when she had carried 
away the plates, “ I must go now, for half-past one has 
struck. Do not sew too long, and pray forget your sad 
thoughts. Some place for you is sure to offer. It would, 
to be sure, have been better if we could have lived in 
Frankfort, instead of coming out here to Rothelheim. 
Then you would have been able to see the people your- 
self. But the living there was really too expensive, and I 
was certain of employment here. Oh, if people only 
knew you, they would seize upon you instantly. If I 
could only induce my good directress to see you, she never 
could withstand you ! Now good-by, dearest and best, 
— all good spirits protect you in the dark, — you know 
we have no light this evening!” 

“Never mind that, Gretchen. I will think of father 
Leonhardt, who is always in the dark, while for us the 
sun will surely rise again.” 

“Yes indeed, Ernestine, always remember that, — ‘The 
sun will surely rise for us,’ ” Gretchen called back into 
the room from the doorway. ^ 

“ In that sense ? Who can tell ?” Ernestine thought 
sadly. 

She looked for a moment irresolutely at the little spider- 
legged table that served as dining- and writing-table. She 
would so like to write to Walter. It was now over a 
week since she had heard from him, and her scientific 
correspondence with this young friend was her sole self- 
indulgence, — the only tie that still connected her with her 
former pursuits. In all his letters he told her of his 
progress, asked her opinion upon many points, and glowed 
with enthusiasm for her genius. She could scarcely with- 
stand the temptation to devote the time while it was yet 


622 


ONLY A GIRL; 


light to writing. Her heart was still full of the wonder- 
ful dreams of the morning. 

But she looked down at the skirt upon which she was 
working, and which she really stood in need of, and 
thought, “No, I was thoughtless this morning, and 
dreamed away the time, instead of cooking. I will be 
conscientious this afternoon, and work ” 

She seated herself, sighing heavily, at the window, and 
sewed on diligently. “ Practice makes perfect,” she had 
said in the essay that was to procure her admission to 
the lecture-room of the University. She never dreamed 
then how she was one day to prove the truth of the 
proverb. If she only had that essay now, she thought! 
She had forgotten to ask Dr. Mdllner for it, and he 
had it still. What had he done with it? Should she 
reclaim it? No, assuredly not! He had written to 
her but once since her flight from Hochstetten, and had 
afterwards sent her the proceeds of the sale of her furni- 
ture, without one friendly word, — only transacting her 
business for her as formally as for a stranger. And 
what a letter that was after her flight ! She took it out 
to read it once more, although she had read it already 
again and again: 

“ 1 understand you, Ernestine. I expected this. It 
would have been unjust to our future to put force upon 
your feelings. God will one day guide me out of this 
dilemma. Until then, live in peace, and gratify a pride 
that I am now convinced nothing can break Perhaps in 
time it may consume itself, and perhaps love may over- 
come it. I will endure, as I have learned to do since I 
first knew you. There is a strength in you such as I 
never believed a woman could possess, and with which I 
know not how to contend. I do not grudge you the tri- 
umph that this confession affords you. It is a poor de- 
light in comparison with that which love would yield you, 
if you did not scorn it. Ah, Ernestine, could I have 
snatched you from your poverty to my heart and home, 
j^y would have been beyond that of mortals. A 
grateful smile from you would have been more than 
worlds to me. But you do not choose, since you would 
sacrifice nothing for me, to accept any sacrifice from me. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 623 

You choose to be your husband’s equal in all respects, — 
to owe nothing to any human being. I forgive you your 
pride in this respect, for it presupposes an exaggerated 
self-depreciation. As you think so lightly of yourself, — 
as you do not dream of your wealth of charms, of the 
power that you possess to bless and enrich, — you cannot 
believe that you can bestow a treasure to the worth of 
which the wealth of the world is nothing. Perhaps this is 
partly my fault. In my desire to deal truthfully with you, 
I have neglected to impress this fact upon you. I3ut, 
Ernestine, it seems to me a true woman does not ask, 
* How much do I receive, and what can I give in return?’ 
She accepts in love what is offered in love, and is glad to 
owe everything to him to whom she is everything. She 
gives him all that she can, and never stints him of the 
dearest delight that he can have, — that of labouring and 
toiling for one so dear to him. She willingly wears the 
fetters of dependence, regarding them only as ties bind- 
ing her more closely to the loved one. You cannot feel 
so, Ernestine. It would be unjust to require it of you, 
and you were wrong if you feared I should seek to detain 
you by force. I only used force to preserve you from a 
menacing peril. Now you are safe. The world into which 
you are going will be only a school for you, and you have 
need of this school. Therefore, choose your own path, 
and prove the independence, your right to which you in- 
sist upon asserting. I would not exact what would be a 
blessing only as a free gift. There was no need of 
your leaving us as you did, without even a farewell to 
my mother, who had grown so fond of you and nursed 
you so tenderly. It pained her that you should do so. 

“ I will not speak of what I suffered upon finding you 
gone upon my return from town, leaving only those few 
lines of farewell. You are bent upon maintaining the 
dignity of your sex, and, in such an important under- 
taking, it is scarcely worth while to consider the wrecked 
happiness of one human life. 

“ Farewell, and, if I can serve you in anything, com- 
mand me, Johannes.’’ 

When she first received this letter, she had sunk faint- 
ing into Gretchen’s arms. Since then Mollner’s name 


524 


ONLY A OIRL; 


had never passed her lips, and almost five months had 
gone by. Slie had not allowed a thought of him to enter 
her mind, except when, as now, some other subject had 
brought him vividly before her, and then she punished 
herself by quickly thinking of other things. Whence 
came the tears that now trickled down her cheeks? 
Her cold, benumbed hands trembled as she wiped them 
away. She bravely choked them down, and thought — • 
poor child I — that she was not crying, when she swal- 
lowed down the bitter drops that welled up from her 
heart. Such weeping is the bitterest of all. 

The shades of night fell fast, and she could no longer 
see to sew. There was an end of a candle on the shelf, 
and she lighted it, but it scarcely burned half an hour 
before it died out and she was left in darkness. She 
began to arrange and open the narrow beds that stood 
against the wall of the room, and, as she did so, thought 
of her good Willmers. How kind it was of the Frau 
Staatsriithin to take the faithful soul into her service I 
Fie I thinking of him again I What weakness I The 
little room grew darker and darker. The panes began to 
be covered with frost, and the light from the neighbour’s 
room opposite glittered in prismatic colours upon the ice- 
flowers and trees. They were wealthier over there than 
Ernestine, for they could afford a light. They had not 
poured their petroleum on the salad, to be sure, but then 
they bad not been visited by the Snow-queen ! Ernestine 
sat down wearily by her bed, and rested her head on the 
pillow. She felt better when her body was in entire re- 
pose, she thought. 

How wearily she had lain upon her soft bed six months 
ago in Hochstetten I And how anxious she had been to 
live 1 Would it have been so terrible to lose such a life 
as this? Then it seemed as if a strong, tender hand 
clasped hers, and she felt a quick, anxious breath upon her 
brow. She knew it well, and the gentle questioning 
that was sure to follow, — knew that firm, quiet pressure 
upon her heart to count its pulsations. And if she had 
only clasped it fast, — that strong, tender hand, — she would 
not now be sitting here alone in the dark! “Ob, Jo- 
hannes I” she gasped, and extended her arms. Then there 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


625 


was a noise of some one stumbling up-stairs, — that could 
not be Gretchen. There was a knock at the door. “ Who 
is there cried Ernestine, frightened. 

“Postman,” a rough voice answered from without. 

“ Oh, a letter from the agent,” thought Ernestine, open- 
ing the door. 

“Four kreutzers,” said the man, handing her a letter. 

Ernestine stood aghast. “ Is it not prepaid ? I — I 
have not a single kreutzer in the world — we shall have 
no money until to-morrow.” 

“No kreutzers, and no light? Hm — hml Such a 
beautiful lady, with no money in her pocket? Well, 
well, you can pay me to-morrow. I’ll trust you until 
then.” 

“ Thank you, you are very kind,” Ernestine stammered, 
greatly ashamed. She was obliged to run in debt to the 
postman. 

“ Have you no light, to show me the way down-stairs? 
I shall break my legs or my neck upon these steep, narrow 
steps.” 

• “ I will lead you down. I know the way, and I must 
go down to read my letter by a street-lamp.” 

“Good God! what poverty I Go down to the people 
on the lower floor — they will give you a candle-end.” 

“No, I will not. They are not respectable people, and 
I will have nothing to do with them. The poorer one is, 
the prouder one must be — so as not to sink too low. 
You are a good man, Herr Bittner. Tell no one how 
poor we are.” 

“ No, if you say so, but something ought to be done 
for you. I have seen what a hard time you have had 
of it ever since you came here. It’s none of my business. 
I can only hope that there may be something good in the 
letter that I brought you, — and I do hope so, with all my 
heart. Good-evening.” 

“ God grant it I” said Ernestine, going into the street 
to read her letter by the gas-lamp there. A fine snow 
was falling again, and the passers-by looked at her in 
amazement. The colour mounted to her forehead, but 
she could not wait until morning to read this letter, which 
she felt sure contained her fate. It was from the Frank- 


526 


ONLY A OIRL; 


fort agent who was to procure a situation for her, and 
was short and to the point : 

“Fraulein von Hartwich: 

“You wish me to tell you frankly how it is that I have 
as yet procured no situation for you. I will do so, — for 
I see from your note that you accuse me in your thoughts 
of a negligence that I should be sorry to be guilty of 
towards any one, — least of all towards yourself. 

“You yourself, unfortunately, Fraulein von Hartwich, 
furnish the reason why I have hitherto been unable to 
procure a situation for j^ou. No agent in the world would 
be able to find a position as governess in a respectable 
family for a lady bearing such a reputation as yours. 
For their children’s sake, people are unwilling to receive 
into their houses a person who has written as you have 
done against religion and in favour of the emancipation 
of woman. You assure me, I know, that you have altered 
your opinions, and that you yourself now condemn these 
writings. But no one will believe in such a forced con- 
version. Besides, in your advertisement in the papers you 
referred to the Prorector of the University at N , with- 

out giving any name. I can only conclude that you must 
have been mistaken in the person of the Prorector, for the 
present holder of the office is a Professor Herbert, who 
gives the strongest possible testimony against you, and 
has already destroyed your prospects in three separate 
instances, by referring people to your books, — after read- 
ing which, no one would listen to a word in your behalf.” 

Ernestine’s arms dropped by her sides. From delicacy, 
she had suppressed Mollner’s name in the papers, en- 
tirely forgetting that at this time the office of Prorector was 
held but for a year by one person. She remembered how 
she had mortally offended Herbert on the only occasion 
when she had met him, and she knew that this man’s 
mortified vanity had made him her implacable foe. But 
that was a secondary matter. The blameless need fear 
no foe. It was her own fault that Herbert had the power 
to destroy her prospects. He had not maligned her, he had 
simply referred to the books which she had written. She 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 521 

bad herself whetted the knife that he had used against 
her. She had only herself to blame. 

Never had the phantom of the past loomed so mon- 
strously before her as now. There she stood, — she, who 
had thouglit herself able to defy the world, — starving and 
freezing in the cold, reading by the light of a street-lamp 
the anathema that .society hurls at the woman who of- 
fends it. The iron wheels of conventionality, in the path 
of which she had so boldly thrown herself, had passed 
over her prostrate form. She w^^s only a helpless, deso- 
late woman. 

She was scarcely capable of reading any further. She 
held the sheet in her trembling hands, caring not to deci- 
pher the few words of condolence with which the agent 
closed his communication. The snow-flakes wetted the 
paper, so that the letters ran together, and in the wintry 
wind it fluttered to and fro in her hand. 

Her feet were stiff with cold as she turned into the 
house again and groped her way up the dark staircase. 
Gretchen’s return was unusually delayed, and Ernestine 
longed so for her sympathy and advice. 

What should she do ? She could not permit her sister 
to sacrifice the best years of her life to her support. She 
could no longer be dependent upon the kindness of such 
a child. What should she attempt ? Must she beg from 
door to door ? How could she earn her own living, when 
she had been taught none of the arts by which to earn it? 
In these last few months Gretchen had taught her some- 
thing of what was indispensable in such great need. 
She had never dreamed how difiScult the things were that 
she had accounted so unimportant. She had come to the 
point where self-respect is imperilled in the struggle for 
mere subsistence. She wrung her hands, and called out 
into the darkness, “ 0 God, take pity on me, and guide 
me through this valley of the shadow of death I” 

And the bitter doubt whether He would listen to her 
cry would arise within her heart. She reviewed in her 
mind the miserable superficial essays that she had writ- 
ten denying Him, and felt that she was justly punished. 
How little had she thought, when exulting in the attention 
that they had excited, that she should ever feel herself 


528 


ONLY A GIRL; 


disgraced by their authorship I As yet, she had uttered 
no reproach against her uncle. He had expiated by his 
death his theft of her property, but his crime against her 
mind and soul he could never expiate, — this it was that 
now branded him with infamy in her memory. What a 
happy woman she might now have been, if he had not 
misdirected her ambition ! What .friends might have 
been hers, had he not made a misanthrope of her ! and 
now, when starvation stared her in the face, the demon 
of his teaching snatched from her lips the bread that she 
might have earned. 

When Gretchen at last returned, she found Ernestine 
crouching upon the hearth, gazing into the fire that she 
bad kindled to warm her wet feet and to cook the evening 
meal. 

“ Whaf^re you doing, Ernestine dear?” she asked anx- 
iously. 

“ I am praying for daily bread,” she replied in a mono- 
tone. 

Poor Gretchen listened sorrowfully to all that Ernestine 
had to tell her. She knew that for such a nature as 
Ernestine’s this state of dependence and inactivity was 
worse than death, and that no love or devotion on her 
part could reconcile her proud sister to such a lot. She 
could advise nothing. The only thing that Ernestine 
could do for her own support was, perhaps, copying. But 
who in the little town would have anything to copy ? 
And they could hardly live unless Ernestine was able to 
earn something. Gretchen’s modest salary would hardly 
sufiBce to keep them from starvation. She did not mind 
any amount of deprivation for herself, — but could she see 
Ernestine pine and sicken for want of nourishing food ? 
And she had promised solemnly to accept no help from 
Mollner or Hilsborn. What was to be done ? 

After a long, sleepless night, she arose at dawn, and, 
while Ernestine was still sleeping, sat down and wrote to 
Hilsborn. She wrote hurriedly, and the long letter was weft 
with tears that Ernestine would have been grieved to see. 
She finished it before Ernestine awoke, and her eyes be- 
gan to sparkle again, as if they trusted that this letter 
would change the whole aspect of alfairs. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL, 


529 


** Gretchen,” said Ernestine, as Gretchen leaned over 
her to give her a morning kiss, “how gay you look 1 Do 
you not feel the heavy burden that I have laid upon your 
shoulders 

“ Oh, Ernestine,” her sister replied, “ as long as I have 
you I will be thankful for you, however dark matters may 
look outside.” . 

Ernestine looked at her thoughtfully. “ Gretchen, there 
is a greatness in your fidelity and self-sacrifice that I never 
before conceived of. Now first I know what Dr. Mollner 
meant by true womanliness. This womanliness your 
father took from me, — you, his child, have restored it to 
me. It is the greatest gift you have given me, and it 
atones for his depriving me of it.” 

Gretchen breathed a sigh of relief. “ When you say 
so, I seem to hear the angels tell me that mercy will be 
shown to my poor father. Indeed, dear Ernestine, you 
are in alliance with beings of a better world, or you could 
not know how to console and inspire me thus. Indeed, 
when you look at me so tenderly I must believe there is 
redemption for the soul of my father. What can I do to 
repay you for such consolation ?” 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE THIRD POWER. 

“ ‘What the law of force fails to accomplish, the intel- 
lect will effect, — where the intellect fails, love succeeds!^ 
That was what he said,” said Ernestine. Again her 
thoughts were involuntarily occupied with Johannes. “ I 
wish I could write the sermons for his reverence, instead 
of copying them, — that would be such an excellent text.” 
Thus she broke forth one day while seated with Gretchen 
at the table, where the latter was busy finishing the new 
dress that Hilsborn had sent her. 

45 


630 


' ONLY A GIRL ; 


“Have you pioposed it to fierr Pastor?” asked 
Gretchen with a smile. 

“ If he were not so conceited, I certainly would do so 
But I suppose he would be offended.” 

“ I rather suppose so too,” laughed Gretchen. 

“ There is a Nemesis in it,” said Ernestine, as she 
sat making a pen. “Here am I, who have hardly ever 
listened to a sermon in my life, obliged to copy ser- 
mons for my bread. Well,” she added gravely, “it is 
just.” 

And again her pen flew quickly over the paper. After 
some time she sat up, with a long breath. “ 1 have learnt 
to deny myself and to pray, but I have yet to learn the 
hardest task of all, — patience.” 

“It must be a terrible drudgery to such a mind as 
yours merely to write down the thoughts of another,^’ 
said Gretchen. 

“If there only were thoughts here, but these are no- 
thing but empty words. And I must not even correct 
them, — it is mental death !” She wrote on for awhile, 
then suddenly raised her head and broke out, “ At least 
they might let women have something to do with religion, 
if they deny our right to meddle with science or politics. 
Beligion is so much a matter of feeling, and feeling is a 
woman’s prerogative. Humility, self-sacrifice, and sub- 
mission are native to woman, and a woman’s lips could 
discourse far more eloquently than a man’s of these 
Christian qualities. Why should a woman not be found 
worthy to declare the word of God ? Why ?” She sup- 
pressed a sigh. “ Ah, the old indignation is getting pos- 
session of me I I will not yield to it, — such independence 
of thought does not become a mere copyist.” She tried 
to go on with her writing, but her cheeks were flushed, 
and the tears stood in her eyes. “ Oh, Gretchen, I shall 
never live it down, — this pity for our poor sex. It will 
always be the same, — any allusion to our wrongs cuts me 
to the very quick.” 

Gretchen laid her hand upon her shoulder. “ Dear Er- 
nestine, we will speak of this some other time. Now 
remember that you have promised that yo’.ir copy shall 
be ready by four o’clock.’* 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR TEE SOUL. 


531 


“You are right. I will finish it instantly,’^ said Ernes- 
tine, dipping the pen in the ink. “No, I cannot let such 
nonsense stand as it is !” she exclaimed after a pause. 
“The man is going to have the sermons printed, — he 
will thank me for correcting the w'orst faults.’^ 

“ Ernestine, take care, — he may be offended,” said 
Gretchen. 

“ Oh, no, surely I may change a couple of words. 
Whatever goes through my hands shall be as free from 
errors as possible.” 

Gretchen shook her head^ 

Ernestine completed her copy in about half an hour, 
and prepared to carry it to the pastor. 

The days were beginning to grow longer. Although 
it was past four o’clock, the winter sun was looking 
brightly into the room, and upon the roofs below their 
windows the snow was melting into little rills. 

“ Shall you be back soon ?” Gretchen called after Er- 
nestine as she went out. 

“ In a very little while,” was the answer, as the speaker 
left the room with her bundle of papers under her arm. 

Gretchen was left alone in the room. 

Another half-hour passed. A firm step was heard 
ascending the stairs. Gretchen listened intently. Her 
heart beat fast with joyous expectancy. Who was it 
that was intruding upon their seclusion ? 

She had not long to wait, there was a loud knock at 
the door. Gretchen’s “ Come in” was instantly followed 
by a “Thank God, ’tis he I” for Mdllner stood upon the 
threshold. 

“ I knew you would come, — I was sure my letter to 
Herr Hilsborn would bring you, — I am delighted I” cried 
the girl, drawing him into the room. He said nothing in 
reply to her welcome, but let her take his hat and coat, 
and then, with a glance around the wretched apartment, 
exclaimed, in a tone of horror-stricken compassion, “ Good 
God I” 

Gretchen understood him, and gave him time to recover 
himself. 

At last he asked, “ Where is she ?” 

“ She has gone to carry home some copying that the 


632 


ONLY A X^IRLi 


pastor gave her to do. She will be here very soon. Do 
not be startled at seeing her look so bf.dly. We have 
lived wretchedly of late.’^ 

Johannes took her hand. “ Gretchen, can’t you hide 
me somewhere ? I am not sufficiently composed to see 
her at present, — I must collect myself.” 

“ Yes, come into our kitchen. I had better prepare 
Ernestine, too, for seeing you, — she is weak, and must 
be treated with great caution.” 

She conducted him into the little, cold, dark room that 
she called a kitchen. “ Look 1 the poor girl has cooked 
our wretched dinners in this place for the last five months, 
and shed many a tear wdien she spoiled anything. Oh, 
if you could have seen, as I have, our proud Ernestine 
work and struggle and starve, you would not have re- 
frained so long from putting an end to our misery.” 

“ It is well that 1 could not see it. 1 should have been 
unnerved, and spoiled all by precipitation.” 

“ Forgive me, but indeed you are hard. Hilsborn 
would not have left me here one instant longer than he 
could have helped.” 

“And he would have been right, Gretchen. But 
Ernestine and you are very different characters. She 
needed, and would have, this struggle for life, — even now 
I tremble lest she should refuse to let me put an end 
to it.” 

“ Oh, no ! when you see Ernestine, you will acknowledge 
that it was high time to hasten to her. Since all her 
efforts to obtain a situation have failed, her spirit seems 
well-nigh broken. I think in a little while she would 
have been hopelessly embittered, and her health would 
have given way entirely.” 

Johannes threw himself into the wooden chair by the 
window, where, in the midst of the hard prose of her 
life, Ernestine had been visited by such wondrous dreams. 
“ Here is a letter to you, my dear Gretchen, from Hilsborn. 
He would have been only too glad to come with me, but 
every moment of his time is in demand.” 

“ He is good and true,” said Gretchen, “ and I know how 
he trusts in me, but I cannot leave Ernestine until her 
future is assured.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


533 


“ You are a noble child, Gretchen I If Ernestine had 
the least suspicion of what you are renouncing for her 

sake, she would never permit ” He paused, a flush 

mounted to his brow, his lips trembled, as he whispered, 
“There she is! I hear her coming I For God’s sake, 
Gretchen, give me time to collect myself.” 

“ I will go and meet her, that she may not come in 
here,” said Gretchen. 

Johannes handed her a book. “ Here, lay this upon 
her table. It is a copy of the same edition of Andersen’s 
Fairy Tales that I once gave her, and that was burnt. It 
may prepare her for seeing me.” 

“Yes, yes 1” Gretchen hurried into the next room, 
and laid the book in Ernestine’s work-basket. She started 
at the haggard appearance of Ernestine who entered 
with eyes flashing, and an expression of sullen indig- 
nation upon every feature. 

“ What is the matter, Ernestine ?” she asked. 

Ernestine threw ofl" her hat and cloak, wrung her 
hands, and walked hurriedly to and fro. “ That has 
gone too !” 

“ What, Ernestine ? — what ?” 

“ The pastor has refused to give me any more sermons 
to copy, because I ventured to correct his errors.” 

“ Oh, is that all ?” cried Gretchen, very much relieved. 

“ Is that all ?” Ernestine repeated bitterly, “ You say 
that, because, faithful and true as you are, you see no 
hardship in the prospect of supporting me again, without 
any help on my part, by your own unwearied exertions. 
You can say, ‘Is that all?’ but I, who fancied myself 
the first and proudest of my sex, am a beggar, dependent 
upon charity, fit for nothing but the duties of a common 
maid-servant, and not able to perform even these de- 
cently. I have lost all confidence, all hope, in myself. 
That is all I” 

Gretchen caressed her lovingly, and smiled, — how 
could she smile at this moment? “Ah, Ernestine, how 
could you reject Dr. Mollner when he first wooed you ? 
I should have thought you would have given your heart 
to him upon the spot. I only hope you may never know 
what you threw away.” 


45 * 


534 


ONLY A GIRL; 


“Gretchen,” said Ernestine gravely, “it is long since 
I have learned what I then rejected. The pride with 
which I turned away from him, refusing to sacrifice 
my foolish ambition to make myself a name, has been 
severely punished. As in our dreams we are some- 
times borne aloft as upon wings into immeasurable space, 
until our balance is lost and we fall headlong, awaking 
with the shock, so my ambition carried me to heights 
where I could not sustain myself. I fell, but strong and 
tender arms were held out to receive me, and I awoke to 
find myself embraced by them instead of prostrate in a 
frightful abyss. Then, in the confusion of my wakening, 
I thought those sustaining arms were fetters. I thrust 
them from me, and now I lie crushed and broken on the 
ground.” She crossed her arms upon the table, and 
bowed her head on them. 

Gently Gretchen took the book from the basket, and, 
opening it where she saw that Johannes had put a mark, 
she silently pushed it towards Ernestine, who raised her 
head at the touch, and at first looked absently at the 
pages before her, then gazed and gazed as if utterly 
unable to comprehend what she saw. It was her dear 
old book, — there was the swan that she had burned. 
“ Heavens!” she cried, between laughter and tears, “can 
this be real? My swan ! My swan! Who brought me 
this? Oh, dreams of my childhood, who has restored 
you to me ?” 

And she knelt beside the table, and laid her cheek upon 
the book. Before her closed eyes it was night again. 
Before her upon the table burned the dim night-lamp, 
and her father lay asleep close at hand. She read the 
story of the Ugly Duckling, and above her softly rustled 
the snowy plumage of the swan, and among her curls 
trembled the leaves of the oak whence the handsome boy 
had snatched her from mortal peril. And then her father 
awoke, and sent her up to her uncle. There stood the 
telescope, through which she was again gazing, thirsting 
for a peace which her young heart presaged without the 
power to grasp, — filled with longing to be borne up — 
up to those starry worlds gliding so silently through 
space. She knew now what she had so desired, — Love 1 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 535 

But she searched for it among those worlds in vain. 
Suddenly she was standing upon the hill in the garden 
of her castle, and above her hovered the faithful little 
mermaid, in the shape of a sunset cloud, while a deep, 
tender voice whispered, “Poor swan I’' Here, here was 
what she sought. 

“ Poor swan I” The words sounded distinctly now in 
her ears, not in her dreaming fancy only. She opened 
her eyes, and started up with a low cry, and would have 
fled, — fled to the uttermost ends of the earth, — but she 
could not stir from the spot. She tottered and would 
have fallen, but two strong arms upheld her, and for 
a moment she lost all consciousness. This was rest 
indeed. 

“ Shall I get some water asked Gretehen. 

“ Oh, no. Do not grudge me one moment,” said Jo- 
hannes, clasping the lifeless form to his heart. “ She will 
recoil from me as soon as she comes to herself.” 

“You should not have spoken to her so suddenly,” 
said Gretehen. 

Ernestine opened her eyes, looked up and around for 
a moment in bewilderment, and then extricated herself 
instantly from the arms in which she had found such rest. 

“Did I not know her well?” Johannes said, by a 
glance, to Gretehen. 

“You came so unexpectedly, — I was weak. I am 
ashamed of myself,” she said, struggling for composure. 

“You might be ashamed, if you could be what you 
call strong at this moment,” he replied. At a sign from 
him, Gretehen withdrew. 

Johannes gazed for a moment with intense devotion 
into Ernestine’s eyes. “Dear heart, let me speak one 
fervent, last word to you. I know that I just now held 
another Ernestine in my arms than she who fled from me 
almost half a year ago. I felt it in the throbbing of your 
heart. But fear nothing, I am not come to take advan- 
tage of your helpless condition, — to wring from you a 
decision which might be stigmatized, in your present 
circumstances, as extorted from you by necessity. I 
understand you now. Yours is a nature never to yield 
to pressure from without, — it must take form and 


636 


ONLY A GIRL; 


direction from within. It would be as useless to at- 
tempt controlling such a nature bj force as to endeavour 
to make a rose bloom by tearing open the bud. We 
might destroy, but we could not unfold it. I have done 
all that I could to restore to you what is as necessary 
to you as light and air, — ^your independence. You once 
accused me of selfishness and interested motives. You 
shall be convinced that you did me injustice in this re- 
spect.” He drew a paper from his breast-pocket. “ I 
have succeeded through my friend Brenter, in St. Peters- 
burg, in procuring you the offer of a position as Teacher 
of Natural Science in the famous Normal School estab- 
lished there. The place is a capital one, and has hith- 
erto been occupied by men only. You will be entire 
mistress of your time, with the exception of the few 
hours daily spent in instruction. You can easily pursue 
your studies, and I can procure you admission to the sci- 
entific society of St. Petersburg. Your life there will be 
what your former ambition craved. You can earn your 
livelihood honourably, and sooner or later you will have 
an opportunity of attaining the goal of your desires, — a 
degree, for the Russian universities are not so strict as 
the German in the matter of admitting women to a 
share in their honours. Here is Brenter ’s letter. You 
see it makes you independent of all aid, even of mine. 
And now I venture again to ask you to make a sacrifice 
tor me, — a great sacrifice. You cannot fear, if you now 
grant my suit, that any suspicion can be cast upon the 
freedom of your choice, or that you can be accused of 
being driven by necessity into my arms. If you yield 
now, you renounce brilliant prospects for my sake. I 
will urge nothing in my own behalf Leave me, and 
there is a great future before you. Be mine, and my 
heart and home stand wide open to receive you. . I will 
only say, ‘Choose, Ernestine.’” 

“And have you done this, — this for me?” said Ernes- 
tine, trembling with emotion. “ How truly have you 
understood and respected my pride ! How firm and yet 
how tender you are with me I How can I thank you, 
how repay you ?” 

“ How, Ernestine? Let your own heart answer.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


537 


I cannot listen to my heart alone. I must do what- 
ever will make me worthiest of such devoted love. What 
shall, — what should I decide 

“ Let me tell you, if you do not know, for the last time, 
that true pride will teach you that you can give me 
nothing half so precious as yourself. The value of this 
gift no worldly wealth or honours could enhance. True 
humility will teach you to yield your fate unquestion- 
ingly to the man who gives you his very life. Go from 
me, and you may be great, but you cannot be womanly, 
and what is such greatness, attained at the cost of a 
heart? Give up the false pride that would seek fame 
beyond the bounds of a woman’s sphere, and confess 
that you can do nothing greater than to enrich and 
bless, as you will when you are what God intended you 
should be — a true, loving woman.” He broke off. “But, 
I repeat, the choice is yours.” 

“ The choice ? Is there any choice left for me ?” cried 
Ernestine with sparkling eyes. “ Shall I dissemble now, 
and try to conceal what I have scarcely been able for a 
long time to control ? What are learning and fame, what 
the pride of position that you have offered me, compared 
with the happiness of this moment? Away with them 
all, and with my false pride 1 My choice is made, Jo- 
hannes.” And she sank upon his breast. 

He clasped her as in a dream. Their lips met in a first 
long kiss, in which the lover breathed forth his long-pent- 
up tenderness. 

She trembled like a scarce-opened flower in the first wind 
of summer, and yet all was as well with her as when she 
had, as a child, measured herself against the Titanic force 
of the elements in commotion around her. She knew 
now that love was no weakness, but a mighty power, 
and that it was divine to put forth this power. She 
raised her head at last, and looked at him with tears 
in her eyes. “Johannes, — dearest, best, — forgive— for- 
give my faults and failings — I repented them so long 
ago I” 

He leaned over her, and whispered, “ Ernestine, only 
love, do you now confess the third power of which I 
once told y ou ?” 


538 


ONLY A ^IRL; 


“Yes, yes, I confess and bow before it.’’ She folded 
her hands, and her face seemed for a moment transfigured. 
“ Oh, Spirit of Love, dwell in my heart, and teach me to 
be worthy of him who is so dear to me.” 

^ ^ 4 : ^ 

There was a double wedding such as the town of 

N had never seen before I Mollner and Ernestine, 

Hilsborn and Gretchen, were married on the same day. 
There was a great crowd before the quiet house where 
Professor Mollner lived, to witness the arrival of the 
numerous guests who were to escort the bridal parties to 
church. 

“ That is one of the bridesmaids, but an old one,” was 
whispered among the people as Elsa and her brother 
alighted from their carriage. 

“ And that is another, but a very little one,” was added, 
as a stalwart young man lifted a charming brown-eyed 
child out of the carriage. She was dressed in white with 
pink ribbons, and had a huge bouquet in her hand. 

“But, oh, she has only one arm!” was uttered in a 
tone of compassion as she passed into the house, accom- 
panied by her companion bridesmaid, and disappeared 
beneath the garlands and among the flowering shrubs 
with which the hall was decorated. 

Within, the large drawing-room was crowded with 

the science and respectability of N . There had been 

great astonishment among the inhabitants of the place 
when Johannes’ actual engagement to the Hartwich was 
announced, but all agreed that Professor Mollner always 
knew what he was about ; and those who were invited 
to the wedding declared themselves delighted with the 
match. 

Even Elsa was appeased by Mollner’s request that she 
would act as bridesmaid. “ I am glad to be his brides- 
maid,” she said to her sister-in-law in the morning. “It 
will break my heart, but I will not repine I I shall fade 
away like a blossom that zephyrs waft from the tree be- 
fore it can become fruit. Oh, no, I do not repine, — I only 
share the fate of thousands of my sisters. The blossom 
dying the death of innocence in its virgin purity is not 
to be pitied — no, let pity be for him who could crush 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


539 


it beneath his tread in his onward path without ever 
dreaming of the delight that it might have given him.” 
She did not foresee that the poetic death that she antici- 
pated would be- very long delayed, and that she would 
be a welcome guest in Mdllner’s house in future years, 
as “Aunt Elsa” to a throng of attentive little listeners 
whom she would delight with many a tale about the 
elves, gnomes, and wild flowers of her youth. She was 
dressed in character on the present occasion, in sea-green, 
with a wreath of cherry-blossoms in her hair; a long 
narrow scarf of white satin fluttered about her. slender 
figure. “Many might be more richly clad,” she thought, 
“ but none so romantically and poetically.” 

Her brother was in a sad state of "mind as he this 
morning put on the dress-coat in which he had made his 
first appearance a year before in the Countess Worron- 
ska’s boudoir. He had just heard that the beautiful 
countess had been killed in a race at St. Petersburg, and 
his grief at the death of the woman whom he still loved 
was increased by the necessity of concealing it. 

In spite of the number of guests, there was a solemn 
silence reigning in the large apartment. For all were 
awaiting the entrance of the two brides. 

Who has not been conscious of a slight shudder at the 
first appearance of a bride, a young girl, about to take the 
most important step of her life ? All eyes were turned 
towards the door of the antechamber. 

Johannes, with his mother, and Hilsborn, with Heim, 
placed themselves opposite it, the guests withdrew from 
around them, and a space through the centre of the room 
was left free. 

Slowly, and enveloped in her floating veil as in a white 
cloud, her head bowed beneath the myrtle- wreath, Ernes- 
tine entered the room. Her dark eyelashes were droop- 
ing, and upon her broad brow true womanhood was en- 
tnroned. She paused, bewildered and confused by the 
presence of so many people, among whom the whisper 
ran, “ How lovely the bride looks !” In defiance of all rule, 
Johannes hastened to her, and clasped her hands in his. 

“ My swan,” he whispered, “ now you have unfolded 
your plumage I” 


540 


ONLY A OIRL ; 


Ernestine bent her head lower still, and a tear fell on 
his hand. 

“Johannes,” she said softly, “ let me confess, — I have 
loved you ever since you made known to me, eleven years 
ago, the promise of the swan, but I could not know that it 
was only through you that the promise was to be ful- 
filled I” 

“ You loved me then, and could reject and torment me I 
Oh, Ernestine, what penalty is there for such cruelty ?” 

“ Only one, dearest, but a severe one, — grief for time 
wasted. ” 

“ Amen, my daughter,” said the Staatsrathin gravely. 

The second bride, Gretchen, now entered, with blushing 
cheeks and a radiant smile. Hilsborn, with his foster- 
father, went to her, and Heim gave her his paternal bene- 
diction. Then came Angelika, and the faithful Willmers, 
who had discharged the office of dressing-maid to the 
pair. 

From a corner of the room, Johannes led forward a 
bowed, aged form, the friend whom Ernestine had chosen 
to give her away, — old Leonhardt. 

“ Father,” she said, gently taking his hand in one of 
hers, while she held out the other to the Staatsrathin, 
— “ father, mother in spirit and in truth, I thank you 
both.” 

“Ernestine,” said Leonhardt, “only one day in my 
life, — the day of my own marriage, — equals this in hap- 
piness. God bless you I” The old man was happy in- 
deed, for the day before Walter had handed him a parch- 
ment roll with the announcement “ It is my diploma.” 

“Are we never going to start ?” suddenly exclaimed 
Moritz. “ These lovers are not in any hurry, apparently. 
They have had sufficient time to make up their minds, — 
pray Heaven they are not regretting their decision. To 
church, then, in God^s name.” 

“ In God’s name,” Ernestine whispered, and the words 
were spoken with her whole soul. 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


541 


A YEAE LATBE. 

“ Who would have thought that Ernestine would ever 
have turned out such a woman said Moritz Kern in a 
suppressed tone to his wife. 

The pair were walking to and fro in Mdllner’s study, 
which was furnished precisely like Ernestine’s former 
library, and they were evidently awaiting some event 
with anxiety. 

Half hidden by the heavy folds of the blue curtains, 
Hilsborn and Gretchen were standing at the window. 
They did not speak, their hearts were too full. Gretchen’s 
hands were folded, as though she were breathing a silent 
prayer, and Hilsborn stood grave and anxious beside her. 
Even Moritz stopped now and then and looked towards 
the door of the adjoining room, as if expecting it to open, 
but he evidently wished to conceal all emotion, and 
talked on gaily. “Yes, who would have thought it? Jo- 
hannes must have been puzzled indeed to know how to 
train that scatterbrain.’’ 

“ I always told you that Johannes could do whatever 
he chose, and Ernestine was always sweet and good in 
reality, only she had been so warped by her education,” 
said Angelika. “ I liked her from the first moment that 
I saw her after she was grown up, and you know I always 
defended her from your attacks. And now all is just as 
I said it would be.” 

“ Oh, of course! I really should like to hear of any- 
thing that you women did not know all about before- 
hand,” laughed Moritz. “You are always so much sharper 
than we. If Ernestine had made her husband as un- 
happy as she makes him happy, we should hear the same 
thing, — ‘ Oh, I told you so, I saw how it would be from 
the first, I never liked her.’ I know you well I” 

“Are you not ashamed,” pouted Angelika, “ to go on 

46 


542 


ONLY A GIRL; 


with your silly jests when we are all so anxious ? If Jo- 
hannes should lose his wife, what would become of him?” 

“Ah, bah I he is not going to lose her. Don’t be fool- 
ish,” said Moritz. 

Hilsborn came towards them. “ Don’t make yourself 
out worse than you are, Moritz,” said he. “ I never saw 
you look more troubled than you do just at this moment. 
You know well enough what Ernestine is to us all.” 

“ Deuce take it, of course I know it I” cried Moritz, — 
“ she’s as much to me as to any of you, — but I hate to 
hear people cry before they are hurt. God keep her, she’s 
a jewel of a woman I” 

“ Yes,” said Gretchen, joining in the conversation, 
“such women are rare indeed. How she fulfils every 
duty, even those that she once considered so dull and 
commonplace I” 

“Yes, yes,” chimed in Angelika, “my mother is never 
weary of sounding her praises.” 

“ This is the most wonderful thing she has accom- 
plished yet,” said Moritz. “ Only hear these two notable 
housewives, Hilsborn, joining in a chorus of praise of a 
third ! Did you ever hear anything like it ? I never did.” 

“ She deserves it all,” answered Hilsborn. “ And then 
she is invaluable to Johannes as a scientific companion 
and assistant. He could as ill spare her at his desk or in 
his laboratory as at the head of his household — or ” 

“ Hush 1” interrupted Angelika, “ did you not hear 
some one at the door ?” And silence reigned in the room 
again for awhile. 

“ I hope it will be a boy, — Ernestine longs for a boy,” 
sighed Angelika. 

“ Past two o’clock,” said Hilsborn. “ I wish they would 
send us some one to say how she is.” 

Suddenly the door was flung open, and old Heim’s deep 
voice cried, “ It is over.” 

“ Thank God I” they all exclaimed as with one breath. 

“ Is it a boy?” asked Angelika. 

“No, a girl I” 

“ A girl !” said Moritz. “ Well, ‘ ’tis not pretty, but sin 
is uglier,’ as the Suabian said.” 


OR A PHYSICIAN FOR THE SOUL. 


543 


“ Do be quiet I What would Ernestine say if she heard 
you, you mocker?” said Angelika. “May we not go to 
her, Uncle Heim ?” 

“No, stay where you are,” said the old man, closing 
the door. 

Within Ernestine’s apartment all was quiet and repose. 
Johannes was standing, mute with happiness, by Ernes- 
tine’s side, supporting her head, when he was called to 
look at his little daughter, a bundle of snowy wrappings 
in her grandmother’s arms. 

He took the little creature from her and laid it by his 
wife’s side. “ Mother,” was all he said, leaning over her 
enraptured for awhile, gazing into the pure delight mir- 
rored in her eyes. At last he raised his head, and said, 
laughingly, “But, Ernestine, ‘it is only a girl.’” 

“ Be it so. I do not question what God has sent me. 
I am a mother. I envy no man now, and our daughter 
shall never do so. We will cherish and train our child 
to be what a true woman should be, and some day she 
may say to one whom she loves, as I do to you, my 
dearest, ‘ Thank God that I am a woman, and that I am 
yours.’ ” 

“Ernestine,” said Johannes, “those are the dearest 
words you could utter. Happy the daughter of such a 
mother I Father Heim, mother dear, did you hear Ernes- 
tine’s confession ? She is reconciled at last to the destiny 
of her sex.” 

Ernestine gazed at the atom of being by her side, as if 
it were a miracle. She quite agreed with the Staats- 
rathin that it was a wonderfully pretty child for a new- 
born baby, and, as she laid her hand upon its little heart 
and felt its regular beating, she smiled amid her tears, 
and would gladly have clasped it in her arms, only it 
seemed so frail and slight she was afraid of breaking it. 

“ Uncle Heim,” she said, “ I once thought that it would 
have been better if you had left me to die when my 
father gave me that almost fatal blow, but since then I 
have been often grateful to you for preserving my life, 
although never so grateful as at this moment.” 

“ Ah, bah I” said the old man, “ I was only the physi- 


544 


ONLY A GIRL. 


cian of your body. Reserve your gratitude for this fellow,” 
he laid his hand upon Johannes’ shoulder, — “he was the 
physician for your soul, and so judicious was his treat- 
ment, that now you can have some comfort of your 
life.” 

Ernestine looked up gratefully at her husband. “ Yes, 
faithful physician of my soul, — your medicines were very 
bitter, but they were my salvation.” 


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Night and Morning 2 vcls, 

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CHAMBERS’S BOOK OF DAYS. 

The Book of Days: A Miscellany of Popular An- 

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III. — Folk-Lore of the United Kingdom : namely. Popular Notions and 

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^ 'DaYS''of the Year. Jp 

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Literature and Ideas in those kingdoms. 

VL — Curious, P'ugitive and Inedited Pieces. 

The work is printed in a new, elegant and readable type and illus- 
trated with an abundance of Wood. Engravings. 










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